The Walking Dead
by Phx
Summary: Season 6 AU. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is listening, does it make any sound? And what if that tree is a Sasquatch? hurtSam.
1. Chapter 1

_Set after 6.01. Spoilers for anything up to and including that episode. This story goes completely AU after that because, well, I need my happy ending a lot more than Sera G does right now, lol! Thank you Alaina and Sheila for the beta and support - you girls rock! I hope you enjoy the story._

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 1**

Sam tried not to think too much anymore.

It wasn't the easiest (or healthiest) way to deal with things but it was the only way he could.

It didn't always work for him though, and on those days when memories and emotions clashed and threatened to bring him to his knees… or make his skull explode, Sam would find somewhere quiet along side the road to stop. He'd change worn jeans and boots for track pants and a pair of sneakers… and he'd run.

He'd run until his heart pounded too hard.

Until his lungs burned for something that he just couldn't have.

And until he felt like he was ready to go back to pretending that everything was okay.

But usually before he reached that platitude of deluded denial and careful compartmentalization, he'd have to admit to himself just how screwed up he was.

It was laughable really, he'd think in those moments of unbridled honesty, that of all the Winchesters, he was the most messed up; he was so far from normal, his skin itched at the very word.

And that was how Sam found himself running now, along an overgrown and wooded trail on a chilly October morning.

He'd been thinking too much all night. Motel room pushups instead of a bed had kept him from putting a gun in his mouth until finally he'd fled in dawn's early light; thrown his bag into the trunk of the car and peeled out of the parking lot, desperate to get away.

To run.

It had been weeks since he'd walked away from Dean, leaving his brother to keep safe in his normal life with his normal family.

It hurt to be replaced but Sam tried not to let himself think too much about it. Be kinda hypocritical to begrudge his brother that life since it was Sam himself who had driven him into their arms.

And he didn't regret it at all.

He _didn't_.

Even now, it was barely a year later and Dean looked good. Refreshed, recharged._ Happy._

Okay, maybe 'happy' might be stretching things when Sam was honest with himself however, but he had to believe it was for the best.

_He had to_.

And it was the _right_ thing to do.

Just look at Dean.

_Look. At. Him._

Oh God.

Things were easier when he didn't think about them. Hunting for sure. He blew into town, did his job, packed up and moved on.

It had gotten a bit more complicated after he'd hooked up with the Campbells. Grandpa was a bit of a control freak and while he trusted them, he didn't _trust_ them, not like he did Dean, but since they weren't exactly much on the caring and sharing front, it worked. They backed each other and got things done… but that was it. Conversation wasn't a requirement and the few times when Sam was expected to make nice, he'd do what he'd done all his life.

Hide behind Dean.

It was easy to talk about his brother, so he did. Dean this and Dean that. That was Sam's conversation and that was all he needed. Talking about Dean helped –

_Dean._

Sam's long legs stretched out, chewing up the gravel path.

It always came back to Dean.

The smell of rain hung heavy in the air and Sam breathed it in hard, panting softly now and focusing on the scent of dirt and rot. Leaves, reds, browns and oranges, crunched under his sneakers as around him the breeze picked up and new leaves started to fall.

Sam found himself fixated on one. Slowing down he watched as it languidly, gracefully, fell from a tall maple in front of him. It was scarlet red and by the time it finished its silent descent, he was completely stopped and staring at it, the world around him a blur in the background even as his chest heaved from the exertion of his run.

Hell had no color. It was all muted shades of grey and agony. Even the blood that ran in rivulets from the very floors of the cage itself was black.

Everything was black.

Mesmerized, Sam cocked his head to the side and just stared at the leaf. Uncrinkled, un-bug-bitten, unsoiled. It was absolutely perfect, beautiful, as it rested on a bed of yellows and oranges; a flash of blood on a pretty autumn palette.

Sam crouched down and reached out to pick it up. His fingers, more comfortable curled around a trigger or the blade of a knife, were hesitant and he flexed them impatiently before finally touching the leaf, momentarily surprised by how cool and smooth it was against his palm. He had forgotten.

How long ago had it been since he'd done something so trivial, so undamning, as picking up a leaf? Sam didn't know although a brief flash of memory of spreading glue on a beer bottle and his brother's perplexed look when it stuck to Dean's hand plucked dimly at his mind. It had been too long. Abruptly he shook the remembrance off and stood, still holding the leaf.

Breathing almost normally now, Sam began to walk. He had no idea what he was going to do with the leaf and he didn't know why, but he wanted to keep it.

A slight smile twisted his lips as he wondered what Dean would say the next time he was in Sam's car and saw the leaf tucked away safely in the visor. Sam snorted and shook his head not once wondering what made him so sure there would be a next time.

The first slap of rain on his face had Sam looking up. Time to go back, he decided, not eager to get wet and already starting to shiver as the temperature dropped and his sweat soaked t-shirt clung to his back. Holding the leaf carefully so it didn't bend or get broken, he started in a slow jog back to the car.

The trail he was running on was really just a slip of gravel that ran from the side of the highway into the woods, definitely not on the tourist guide map of the area and probably only known to some of the locals. If he hadn't known what to look for when he was driving, he'd have totally missed it but after a year of frequent needs to escape Sam had become good at finding old trailheads. And given the overgrowth and obvious lack of maintenance, it'd be safe to bet he'd been the first person who'd been along this way in a while.

Normally that didn't bother Sam. In fact when he needed to escape what was going on in his head, he preferred it to be someplace isolated and unpopular. But this time, when the gravel under him suddenly gave way, the whole side of the trail collapsing, sending Sam slipping and sliding, wrapped in the throes of a landslide, he had one fleeting thought: if he got badly hurt and couldn't get out of here himself, he was screwed…

And then as his body was twisted, turned, scraped and hurled, his head hit something sharp and the world blinked out with a flash of pain.

By the time the earth stopped moving, Sam was pinned face down and wedged tightly under a large boulder, the weight of the trail resting hard on his back. One arm was pinned under him, the other flung forward like he was reaching for something; his position a macabre caricature of someone sleeping on their stomach.

His free hand still held the leaf but it was no longer un-crinkled and perfect.

Just red.

Blood red.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, what a wonderful response. Thank you for comments and I hope you continue to enjoy the story._

**The Walking Dead**

Chapter 2

It was pouring rain and Dean was bored. The job site he'd been working on shut down once the weather started, Lisa was working and although Ben was home today from school, the kid was leaned over the kitchen table doing his homework. A small smile twitched at Dean's mouth as it stirred up some distant memories of his own youth, being stuck inside a motel room because of rain as his stick-in-the-mud little brother did his homework, refusing to entertain Dean until the older teen had resorted to tormenting him. It worked every time. Sure it would start with Sam's bitchface and lots of _'Deeeannnn'_ but the kid had never been able to deny Dean and it'd always end the same; with Sammy putting his homework aside and hanging out with his big brother instead.

_Sammy._

Dean sighed and slumped down in a chair across from Ben. It wouldn't be fair to poke at this kid so he feigned interest instead. It beat wandering around the house with nothing to do but think. "What ya doing?"

Ben didn't even glance up. "Homework."

Snorting, Dean huffed. "Yeah, I figured that much, wise-guy." He leaned across the table and frowned. "Math? Oh man, that sucks."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Ben agreed quietly as he sat back. His brow was furrowed as he continued. "I don't know why they even make us learn this stuff. Like really? When are you going to use any of this?"

Dean shrugged in total agreement. "I dunno… but you're a smart kid, I'm sure you'll get it."

Ben stared at him incredulously, then shook his head and pulled the math closer to start working on it again.

"What?" Dean asked, knowing he'd missed something.

"I'm not that smart," the pre-teen muttered. "If I was, I wouldn't be stuck on this stupid question." He looked up at Dean, his expression guardedly hopeful. "I guess it's too much to hope you were a math genius in high school?"

Dean laughed out loud. "Nope. Sorry, kid, you got the wrong Winchester." His grin froze as he stared at Ben for a moment, a thought forming in the back of his mind.

"What?" Ben glanced around him a bit nervously but Dean ignored him.

It had been a while since he'd heard from his brother… but certainly calling Sam to ask if he could help Ben with his homework problem, that was a good reason to call, right? It wouldn't reek of how much Dean was missing his brother or worried about Sam, would it?

Dean bit his lip for a moment and then decided. Naww… it wouldn't.

"Tell you what." Standing up from the table, Dean plucked out his cell phone. "Why don't I give Sammy a call and see if he can help you."

"Your brother?" Ben sounded surprised. "Really? You'd actually do that?"

"Sure. Why not?" Dean was already scrolling down to get Sam's new number ignoring the sourness at the back of his throat as he realized his brother was no longer number one on his speed dial.

"Well because you never talk about him _and_ he never comes around so I just thought… I dunno… you were mad at him or something."

Dean's head jerked up from where he was still fumbling with his phone. "What?" And then he thought about what Ben said and his lips pursed liked he'd just sucked on a lemon. "Well. No, not really. That's not it."

"So you're not mad at him then?" Ben's brown eyes bored into Dean and the man shifted on his feet as he considered that.

"Uh," he stalled with an awkward grin. "Talk about a loaded question… I tell you what – why don't I call Sam first and see if he can help? And then I'll try to explain the complicated thing that is Sam'n me."

"What's so complicated? You're either angry at him or not."

"Heh," Dean pushed the button to make the call, pressed the phone to his ear and dropped back down in the chair across from Ben. "If only it was that easy." He tuned the kid's next comment out as he listened to the sound of tinny ringing and waited for his brother to pick up.

* * *

It was the rain that finally roused Sam. Cold and heavy, it pounded against his skin and soaked him to the bone. A small wounded noise turned into a groan as Sam slowly regained consciousness.

His eyes flickered open briefly then shut as a wave of nausea churned his gut into a painful knot. Swallowing hard he lay very still and tried to breath through it.

_Don't throw up. Don't throw up._

After an eternity, and when he finally felt like his stomach wasn't going to crawl up his throat anymore, Sam tried to open his eyes again. He blinked sluggishly, his cheek pressed firmly against cold, wet earth, his drenched hair hanging heavy and limp helped obscure the view.

For a while he just lay there, stared and blinked. He wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. He was so tired and his head hurt, but as he slowly became more aware so did the realization of exactly how much trouble he was in and, even worse, that no one knew where he was. It had been two days since he'd last spoken to anyone other than service industry staff. The Campbells were doing whatever it was they did when he wasn't needed and Dean and Bobby? Well… it had been a bit. Enough that they wouldn't be worried about him for a long time.

"Ahh… s-shit…" Sam breathed out a hiss when memory crept past the pounding in his head and he remembered the fall. Immediately he tried to move, to shift himself up on his hands and knees, but searing pain shot through his lower body, whiting out his vision and leaving him sobbing hard as he ground his face against the dirt in distraction.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

_Not good._

_Not good at all._

Gulping in air, his eyes clenched tightly shut, Sam tried to breath through the pain, working hard just to keep from passing out. Flashes of hell pounded pain in his head as Sam fought for control. Breathing deeply and forcing his eyes back open, Sam swallowed convulsively and pushed down at the panic threatening to shove his lungs through his chest.

_Not hell. Not hell_, he reminded himself even as the agony in his legs screamed Lucifer.

A splash of red and he was staring at it. Focusing on it, pushing everything else aside until finally, seconds, minutes, hours later he was able to think again. Opening his tightly clenched fist, a wave of sadness flooded past the pain as his once perfect leaf slipped out of his hand.

Sam just stared at it, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe as the rain grew heavier and he slowly became aware of things other than how much pain he was in. Things like how cold he was, how much darker it was and just how quiet it was beyond the sound of the rain. And that was what scared Sam the most. The quiet.

_Suck it up Sammy_, he mentally rallied, _if you don't get your shit together, your shit'll be buried out here._ The voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Dean. And oddly enough that helped, even if Sam wanted to remind himself it was Sam, not Sammy.

"Yeah, w-whatever," he managed to groan wondering if the voices in other people's heads gave them as much grief as his did. Licking his lips, Sam tasted blood and dirt. He closed his eyes again for a moment, _everything hurt_, then started a very methodical (and painful) triage. He needed to know how messed up he was and whether or not he had anything to work with.

He started from the top.

Head? Hurt. Like someone was driving nails through his eyeballs. And unfortunately Sam did have a frame of reference for that… Concussed for sure then. Pain level indicating possible bleeding in the brain… or him just being a whiny bitch. Sam decided he'd go with the whiny bitch. Better chance for survivability.

Neck? Well he still had one… It was cold, wet and stiff but, as long as his head didn't explode, he could move it. Now moving it probably wasn't a smart thing for him to do but Sam was going to blame that on his concussion.

Right shoulder? _Holy freakin' crap!_ Sam almost puked when he tried to move it. _Okay,_ he decided panting roughly, _definitely going to go with it probably being dislocated…_ his right arm and hand were useless. Buried under debris, he couldn't even feel his fingers. Not good. Not good at all.

Moving along.

His left shoulder and hand were functional. Good news. Finally. If he could just reach his cell phone…

Sam tried to shift, to move just enough so his hand (his one freaking functioning body part apparently) could push through the gravel and slide down his body to get his phone out of his pant pockets – and puked instead.

* * *

"_You've reached 604-555-6735… I'm not available to take your call at this moment. If you'd like to leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."_

Dean sighed when he heard his brother's monotone message. He gave Ben a forced smile and was half tempted to just hang up. Sam was apparently too busy to talk to him but then the phone beeped and Dean found himself leaving a message anyway. Maybe Sam was just tied up and couldn't come to the phone or something…

"Hey Sam, it's uh… Dean. I was just wondering, well you know if you get a chance, can you, uh, maybe give me a call? That's all. Bye."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 3**

It was dark the next time Sam became aware. The stench of vomit had him gagging and arching his neck back to press his face into the dirt and away from the mess. It had stopped raining but the smell of decay and mud still clung to him, oddly cloying; syrup for his beleaguered senses.

_Hell smelled of sulfur and vomit…_

Sam inhaled sharply and kept his eyes closed a moment longer willing the memories away although the similarities were stark and black. Pinned by earth and rock, in pain and alone, it was as much a cage as any.

_Overdramatic much, bitch?_

Except at least here the voices in his head only sounded like Dean.

Pragmatic to the bitter end, Sam knew he wasn't getting out of this on his own. He needed help and that help lay in the pocket of his jogging pants – his cell phone; providing that it was still working, of course, and hadn't gotten busted up during the fall. And that he got a signal.

Sam sighed. He had no choice. It was his only chance.

His head throbbed as he slowly opened his eyes. The darkness was suffocating; it thread tendrils of panic through his beleaguered control forcing him to pant lightly as his heart started to race.

_Easy big fella,_ Dean's voice was a whisper and it made Sam smile, subconsciously relaxing against the phantom comfort. _Save it for the hard stuff._

_The hard stuff? _Sam mentally snorted as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. _I thought __this__ was the hard stuff._

_Whiny bitch._

The sound of his brother's laughter curled around him and for the first time since the accident Sam's eyes prickled from more than just pain. He really missed _Dean_.

And then he heard something in the trees nearby.

* * *

"_Bobby thinks it might be something called a 'Win-dee-go?' (? Check spelling at library). I'll check it out later. _

_Get at store: _

_Rock-salt _

_Sneakers for Sammy_

_Lighter fluid_

_Milk_

_The boys are driving me nuts. Dean actually started it this time. He –"_

"Dean?" Lisa stood in the doorway of the living room and watched him as Dean thumbed through the pages of his father's journal. He had no idea what prompted him to get it out of the back of the Impala. "It's late. You coming to bed?"

Glancing at the time, Dean was surprised to see it was past eleven o'clock. He'd gotten lost in the nostalgia of his family's journey. Somewhere along the way, the book had become more than John Winchester's record keeping, it had grown into a written record of their lives, complete with tear stains and blood spots in the margins. He offered Lisa a quick grin as he started to close the book. "Sorry, babe, lost track of time. You go up, I won't be far behind you."

"You okay?" she asked, her eyes hooded with concern.

"Yeah," he lied. Another insincere smile added to the pile. "Peachy keen."

"Peachy keen?" that made her laugh. "Since when do you say 'peachy keen'?"

_Since I've been domesticated…_

"Since you won't let me use my normal words," came out instead and that made the pretty brunette roll her eyes in amusement.

"That's because my son doesn't need to learn those kind of words yet." She chastised but he knew she was teasing. Well mostly. Turning away she called over her shoulder. "Mind you, if I'm still awake when you do get upstairs, I might just teach you a couple of new ones." She winked at him suggestively and then slowly sauntered out of the room.

Dean's jaw dropped as he watched the sway of her hips for a moment before shaking his head and swallowing hard. Okay, this was going to be the quickest locking up ever.

* * *

It was a raccoon.

_Holy bloody hell._ It almost gave him a freakin' heart attack but it was only a raccoon.

In the darkness, the creature had gotten quite close to Sam before he could see what it was but when he did he almost passed out in sheer relief alone. The rush of adrenaline left him shaky and panting as fresh pain spiked in his head and whited out his vision for a few moments. By the time he was in control again, the little bandit was close enough that Sam could see its whiskers twitch. It stunk of urine and wet dog.

"S-shoo," Sam shivered out, the continually dropping temperature starting to affect him again. He suspected that the press of earth was actually acting as insulation and counted that as one of his blessings. "G-go'way."

The raccoon stopped and stared at him as if noticing the hunter for the first time. It half reared up and sniffed. Sam started hoping vomit wasn't on its food list.

And then, just like that, the curious little creature scurried away.

Sam waited until he couldn't hear it anymore and then slowly, painstakingly, carefully, he started to move his hand.

* * *

"_You don't matter any more to the world. To Dean…" Lucifer's voice was like silk. It caressed Sam's burning skin. "You are nothing… to anyone." Sharp pain wrenched a cry from Sam's lips as his own fingers tore the flesh from his arms. "But you matter to me. I love you Sam… we are the same…"_

"_No!" he screamed, a guttural noise of blood. "Noooo!"_

Sam's eyes snapped open as he gasped out loud. _Not in hell. Not in hell._ He mentally chanted until finally with a pained and weary grunt, he blinked back tears and rested his cheek against the cold ground, no longer bothered by the odor of his own stench. He didn't remember falling asleep. Or passing out. Whatever… One moment he'd been excruciatingly and painstakingly pushing dirt and gravel away from his body with chilled fingers and the next – he was back in hell. In a cage. Still being ridden by the prince of darkness himself.

He was slowly losing his mind. The tight reins he held on his sanity slackening under the cruelty of this new captivity. His body chafed at the helplessness and a new wave of panic surged – _run, he needed to run_ – and Sam started to buck and struggle, desperate to get out.

_Out!_

_Out!_

_Out!_

And then nothing. He just stopped. Pain buzzed around him like a swarm of flies over a corpse and for a while he just lay there, barely blinking, barely breathing, barely wondering.

_Did anyone know he was missing yet?_

_Did anyone even care?_

_Keep in touch_, Dean had told him when he'd left. _Keep in touch…_

"D-Dean…" he whimpered. "Dean…"

* * *

Dean tossed and turned on the bed next to Lisa. He glanced at the clock and sighed out loud. 4 AM. Crap.

He looked at the dresser where he'd left his cell phone and wondered if he'd somehow missed his brother's call. Surely Sam would have called him back by now, if he got the message, right?

It irked him that he wasn't as certain of the answer to that as he used to be. Things had changed. They'd lived their own lives for a year. The old die-hards just weren't as die-hard as they used to be… Dean wasn't even sure where Sam was. Maybe the guy was in a different time zone.

It was one big ass country after all.

Maybe not as big as Canada but –

Dean got out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping woman and picked up his cell. He pressed the button so the face light up and when he didn't see any missed calls right away, he even pressed the little call log button to double check. Just in case.

There were none.

Dropping the phone back down with a soft thunk, Dean climbed back into bed and shifted onto his side. He chastised himself for being such a sap. _Give it up, Winchester, you just ain't as important to the ungrateful little bastard as you used to be._ But even as he said the words, he knew that wasn't true. No more for Sam then it could be for himself. Sure things might have changed but there were just some things that were incarnate.

No matter what, they were still brothers.

Still blood.

And at the end of the day, that still meant something.

It _had_ to.

The problem was though that Dean just wasn't sure what.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and support. I hope you're still enjoying the story! Thanks to Alaina and Sheila for their wonderful advice and ears!

**The Walking Dead**

Chapter 4

The morning was a grey and overcast continuation of the previous day and Sam could smell the impeding rain although it had yet to start. Chilled fingers continued to push at the damp earth, methodically twitching and moving slightly as they burrowed towards his phone. The pounding in his head had reduced to a dull throb that made it easier for him to think and to manage the pain that burned through his lower body. Sam was sure that at least one leg was broken and really hoped it was only one, but jammed the way he was under a huge boulder and with the weight of dirt pinning him there, he didn't know.

He really had no idea what he would do if both legs were broken.

Stopping for a few minutes to rest as his fingers started to cramp, Sam closed his eyes and breathed deeply, the smell of vomit almost making him gag. His stomach growled and he needed to pee.

Licking his lips tiredly, Sam listened as a crow cawed nearby and the trees rustled quietly. It was really very tranquil.

Opening his eyes again, he forced his fingers to continue digging. The chances of being found were better now that it was daylight but Sam still wasn't holding out much hope for it.

_More my luck, there'd be an earthquake to dump the rest of the woods on me… _

* * *

The young patrolman had noticed the car the prior night when he first started his shift. Black and sleek, it caught his eye for more reasons than it just being parked on the side of the road. He was surprised to see it still there in the morning as he did his final round before getting off for the day.

Pulling up behind it, the man ran the plates and waited to see if it had been stolen. That would make perfect sense. Be a nice car to take for a joyride.

The car came back as being owned by Robert Singer from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a couple of hours from there. It hadn't been reported stolen and had no outstanding tickets or anything else to raise a flag. It was just there.

Getting out of his cruiser, the officer walked around the Dodge Charger, appreciating the sleek lines and obvious care the owner took of the vehicle.

"What'cha doing out here, all by yourself?" he asked as he peered in through the windows, a bit surprised by how tidy the interior was. There wasn't even a wrapper anywhere on the floor. Definitely wasn't owned by anyone with kids, he decided. "Probably ran out of gas." He stood next to the driver's door and looked around at the woods on both sides of the roads. "Yeah, that had to be it." There was no other reason to explain why it was here.

Not from the area, he wasn't aware of the old trail and after a few minutes, he got back in his own vehicle and pulled away. If the car was still here when he started his next shift, he'd have it towed.

* * *

It was lunchtime when Dean finally got out of bed. It was unusual for him to sleep so late but it was Saturday and he didn't have anything pressing that he needed to do. Lisa and Ben had left earlier for soccer practice. They'd asked Dean to go with them but he feigned a headache and promised to meet up with them after lunch. In reality he was hoping his brother would call.

He wasn't worried. He wasn't. But the longer it went on without a return call, the more uneasy he became. He wasn't used to being ignored by Sam. Not when they both knew Dean knew Sam was alive.

His uneasiness turned bitter ten minutes later when he got out of the shower and there were no missed calls on his phone.

"Fine," he snorted as he pulled a t-shirt on over his still wet chest. "Whatever." Unable to leave things like this, and because he wanted Sam to know just how pissed off he was over this, Dean grabbed the phone and tried his brother again.

Like the first time, it went to voicemail.

"You know, you could at least have the decency to call me back. I know me and my _normal_ life are boring next to the Campbells and all the exciting shit you got going on, but I thought Dad, scratch that, that _I_ taught you better manners than that… So you know what, Sam, screw you. Don't bother calling back." Feeling somewhat vindicated, Dean ended the call and dropped the cell on the dresser.

If that didn't make his brother call him. Nothing would.

* * *

Sam could hear his cell phone ringing. His heart pounded hard as his fingers scrabbled at the earth, desperate to answer but there was still too much packed dirt and debris between his hand and the phone. After a few rings, it went silent.

"Oh G-God," he ground out, his eyes prickling at the hope that someone was looking for him; that someone might miss him. "Help me…"

_Just like you helped me?_ Unbidden, Adam's voice lay on him like smoke in his lungs. Incorporeal and pungent, it made it harder to breathe and chilled Sam deeper than bone.

"No," he choked out, _not here, not now_, "please… no…"

Adam haunted Sam.

Dean hadn't asked Sam about the kid and for that Sam was glad. Not sure he could keep his game face on if his brother did but as Sam continued to claw away at the ground, he found himself thinking about Adam.

There had been a brief moment after they fell when Michael fled his vessel and Adam had looked at Sam. Had really seen Sam and knew exactly what had happened. What Sam had done to them.

"_You bastard," Adam started to scream. "You selfish bastard!" _

And then Adam went silent, his vocal chords ripped from his throat and held in Sam's hand. _A gift_, Lucifer's voice had stroked at his mind as Adam's body writhed on the floor; his throat gaping and bloody.

"_Now, now, little boy, you must be nicer to Sammy than that," Lucifer's voice purred from Sam's mouth; Sam tried to bite off his own tongue. _

And after that, things had gotten really bad.

Blinking back the perspiration that stung at his eyes, Sam stopped digging.

Maybe he deserved this.

Maybe it would be better if he just let it happen.

Maybe it wasn't worth fighting anymore.

He was just so tired.

Tired of trying to keep hell from swallowing him whole.

Tired of pretending everything was okay when he was like a machine seconds from overload.

Tired of keeping his distance when all he wanted was to be an important part of Dean's life again.

Tired of –

Tired of living.

Sam kept trying to convince himself that he was okay. That he enjoyed the hunt, the car, the freedom he had of making up his own rules and living the way he wanted to. That giving up his place in Dean's life didn't hurt. But then things would start to press down on him again and he'd be right back in a cage; only this time, a cage of his own making.

The devil wasn't riding him this time but in the end, it didn't matter. The memories rode him just as hard.

_Self-pity much?_

Dean's voice was back in his head.

'_Cause I got to tell ya, Sammy, I'll kick your ass if you do this. _

"D-do what?" Sam whispered. "Die?"

_Give up, you a-hole. I don't care if you die, as long as you go down fighting. _

That was when Sam stopped listening to the voice in his head.

It was getting cold again anyway.

And then the phone started to ring again.

* * *

Dean was cold and his bones ached.

Lisa laughed and told him he was getting old when he complained to her over supper.

He didn't think it was funny. His legs in particular kept cramping horribly and he wondered if karma was getting him back for lying to Lisa and Ben earlier since he now had a bitch of a headache too.

Sam still hadn't called but Dean was refusing to let it bother him. Instead he focused on the two people who did want to spend time with him.

And by the time he finally went to bed and Lisa snuggled against him, working hard to warm him up, Dean had completely forgotten he was waiting for his brother to call and fell asleep.

* * *

The patrolman frowned as he saw the car was still there parked on the side on the road when he stared his next shift.

Calling it in, he waited until the tow truck showed up to tow it away.

"Strange," he said to the driver as he hooked up the black car. "This kinda car? You'd think someone would have reported it missing by now."

"Yeah," the tow truck guy agreed. "You'd think."

Something about this niggled at the back of the officer's neck. Some instinct that told him something wasn't right.

Going back to his car, he radioed in to dispatch and asked for the phone number of the registered owner, knowing he wouldn't feel better until he let the guy know his car had been found.

Not that the guy had bothered to report it missing in the first place. But still, Officer Green was nothing if not thorough.

* * *

"_Singer Salvage. Somebody better be dying… It's after midnight."_

"_Can I speak to a Mr. Robert Singer, please?'_

A pause.

"_This is him."_

"_Mr. Singer, my name is Officer Green with the South Dakota highway patrol and I just wanted to let you know that your car has been found…"_

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

_I know that when you post on the weekend, the chapter tends not to get as many reviews but I didn't want to keep people waiting so decided to just go ahead anyway. I know... I am a bad, lol! I hope you continue to enjoy._

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 5**

Bobby hung up the bedroom phone with a loud click. It was 1:45 in the morning and he was getting too old for this shit.

"Idjit," he grumbled as he fumbled for his cell phone looking for Sam's new number. Damn kid knew better than to leave his car where some gravel road cop might get it towed. Now on top of having no ride when the kid got back to the vehicle, Sam would have to pay a hefty impound fee to get it back. Bobby knew damn well Sam wouldn't risk breaking the thing out while it was still in Bobby's name.

"Knew I shoulda done up a bill of sale," he grumbled as he found _'Idjit2'_ and clicked to make the call. "Got her out of my name."

But even as he grumbled and groused, he also knew he'd never do that to Sam. To either of his boys. Although he wouldn't admit it either, it was his failsafe in case something did happen and the car was found, Bobby would know. And with Sam pretty much hunting on his own most of the time now, it was the only thing the old man could offer in the way of backup. Not that the proud young Winchester would ever know.

Since coming back from hell Sam was more aloof than usual. Bobby respected that it was part of however the kid was dealing with things so he didn't comment on it, but it still worried him so he did what he could to keep the younger man on his radar.

Bobby rubbed a hand across his face tiredly as he heard the rings go through. Worry niggled at the back of his neck as each went unanswered; this didn't make sense. Parking his car out in the open like that was a rookie mistake. At least Bobby hoped it was a mistake and that something wasn't wrong but as the call went to Sam's voicemail he wasn't so sure and didn't bother leaving a message. He called Dean.

* * *

It was dark again and Sam had stopped digging. He was just too cold and found it increasingly difficult to focus or even remember why he was digging in the first place. His world narrowed down to pain and cold. It was easier to just close his eyes and drift off. But every time he did, his phone would ring.

"G'way," he rasped through dry lips, thirst burning through his body now. He didn't need to pee anymore though and was no longer hungry but failed to recognize the significance. His muddled mind unable to remember a time before this.

Maybe that was a blessing.

Sometimes he thought he saw someone walking on the periphery of his vision but every time he called out to them they seemed to melt away. It was funny to think someone could just melt and Sam chuckled dryly, a hoarse painful sound, but then faint memories of fire and flesh reminded him that people melted just fine and it wasn't so funny anymore.

Sometimes he thought he really heard Dean. He'd hear his brother's voice; Dean's words of comfort, _"It's okay, bro, take it easy, I'm here"_. But then he'd remember that Dean wasn't coming.

And he'd try to sleep.

But then the phone would ring again.

Hearing it this time annoyed the hell out of him and with a disgruntled growl, Sam shoved his hand feebly against the earth, deeper into the dirt, desperate to just shut it up –

And his fingers brushed against exposed skin.

* * *

Dean tossed restlessly in the bed.

"_As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you…" _

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"_Sometimes what I'd do for you or Dad, scares me…"_

He shivered, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

"_We keep each other human-"_

Dean sat up in the bed with a gasp. His chest was heaving and it took him a few moments to remember where he was. And when he did, he shoved the blankets off his legs and stood up.

"Dean?" Lisa's sleep slurred voice caught him as he grabbed his jeans. "Wha's going on?"

"Nothing, babe," he assured her even as he pulled on his pants and grabbed a shirt. "There's just something I got to do."

Lisa glanced at the clock, then slowly sat up on the bed. "At 1:45 in the morning?"

Dean tucked in his shirt and grabbed socks. "Yeah, should have taken care of it hours ago."

"I don't understand…" she admitted as Dean leaned against the bed to pull on his socks. He felt her hand soft and tentative on his back. "Where are you going?"

Blowing out a sigh, he twisted to look at her, his eyes dark and pleading for her to understand. "To make sure Sam's okay."

He felt her tense. "Sam?"

"Yeah," but before he could say anything else, his cell phone rang. Hoping it was his brother, Dean grabbed it. "Sam?"

"_Not on my best day,"_ Bobby's voice gruffed into his ear. _"I take it he ain't with you then?"_

Dean felt his anxiety spike. "No," he said slowly. "Should he be?"

"_Ah, shit, boy, I don't know. Highway patrol found his car. It'd been sitting by the side of the road for two days – they called me."_

"You?" Dean started to ask but then decided it wasn't important right now. He'd save the fifth degree for later. "Never mind. Is he on a job?"

"_How the hell should I know?"_ Bobby snapped. _"That pup don't answer to me." _

Recognizing his friend's ire for the worry it was ramped up his own and Dean started to pace, the phone pressed snug to his ear. "That _pup_ don't answer to no one anymore." He ignored Lisa's questioning look. "Okay, okay. So he's probably working with Samuel then." Made logical sense. Sam did say he wasn't hunting alone.

"_You think so?"_

Dean thought back to the conversation he'd had when he first found out his brother had spent the last year hunting. He'd told Sam that hunting alone was stupid (okay so he didn't use those _exact_ words but…) and Sam said he wasn't _really_ hunting alone, he was hunting with family. But, Mr. _Was-going-to-be-a-lawyer-if-life-hadn't-screwed-him-up-so-bad_, did not say "I _don't_ hunt alone" or "I _never_ hunt alone". No he said _'really_' which implied he wasn't but –

Oh crap.

"No," he admitted knowing as well as he knew anything anymore, that Sam wasn't always working with them. The little shit did hunt alone. "I-_freaking hell_– don't know."

"_Well ain't that something now,"_ Bobby sounded as exasperated as Dean felt, _"what'cha want to do?"_

Dean rubbed at the top of his head in agitation. "I don't know," he admitted and it hurt. This was about Sam. He was supposed to know. "Damnit, Bobby, I don't know!"

"_Okay, okay, just settle down, boy, we'll figure this out."_

Bile rose in the back of Dean's throat. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of fear and it settled over him like a well worn cloak. Something was wrong with Sam. He just knew it.

Without looking at Lisa, he began absently shoving his wallet in his pants pocket and hurried out of the room. "Where?" he was demanding as he shoved on boots and reached for his truck keys. "Where was the car?" His hands hovered over the keys then he changed his mind. This wasn't a white pickup moment.

"'_Bout two hours from here,"_ Bobby was saying. _"So you want to call your pappy first though? See if maybe-"_

"No," Dean barked out as he moved towards the garage and the tool box he kept his baby's keys in. "They won't know anything." He didn't try to curb the sting of jealousy in his words. There was just something about them and their relationship with Sam that irked him. It probably wasn't reasonable but Dean was seldom reasonable where his brother was concerned. And no matter what else, Samuel Campbell was _not_ his 'pappy'.

Bobby, wise man that he was, didn't question it, just told him to be careful and call when he found Sam. Dean knew the man wanted to offer to meet him halfway but appreciated that Bobby didn't say anything. This was between Dean and Sam.

Besides, it was possible that they were overreacting and Sam was just off doing _whatever_ it was Sam did now. Dean clawed back the bitterness at that thought; the wrongness of not knowing.

It almost felt like old times as he liberated the Impala's keys and reached for the tarp but Lisa's voice stopped him.

"Dean?"

Turning, he saw her standing in the doorway, the afghan from their bed wrapped snuggly around her shoulders. She looked tired and worried.

"Hey, babe," he moved towards her half in apology, half in concern. "Why don't you go back to bed. I, uh, I got to go out for a while."

"How long is a while?" Dark brown eyes bored into his and he knew he couldn't lie. Well, that was not true, he could but didn't want to.

"I don't know," he admitted. "A couple hours? A day or so?"

"What about work?" Lisa asked. Her thinking always practical.

"Oh yeah, uh, I guess I'd better give them a call." Even after a year, he still wasn't used to answering to anyone's bell.

Lisa moved towards him, opening up the blanket and wrapping it around them both as she hugged him and pressed her cheek against his chest. "Can't this wait until morning at least? It's late."

The warmth was tempting as was the woman but –

"I can't." He forced the words out. _Damn it, Sam._

"Is this about Sam?" She pulled away and looked up into his face. "I overheard – his car got towed? You think he's in trouble."

"He's always in trouble," Dean snorted, surprised when Lisa gave him an odd look.

"Always?"

"Well, yeah. It's kind of his thing. He gets into a bind and I go save his ass. Same old, same old."

"Are you sure? I mean, he's been back a year and didn't seem to have any trouble."

Dean's jaw tightened. "Lisa-"

"It's okay," she smiled prettily at him and reached up to stroke the side of his jaw. "You don't have to explain. Just. Be careful, okay?"

"I always am." Dean gave her a cocky smirk then leaned in to give her a lingering kiss. _So help me, Sam,_ he mentally chastised, _this had better be real._ And then without any further delay, he turned away from Lisa, yanked the tarp off the Impala and unlocked the door. He gave Lisa one final smile, "I'll call you when I can," then started up the car and backed out of the garage.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the delay. I've been in a blue funk that has been hard to kick, and my poor, poor season six Sammy... Anyways, here is the update - it is unbeta'd because I wanted to get it posted without any further delay. I hope you like it.

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 6**

By the time Sam's trembling fingers crept past the exposed skin on his hip and finally closed around his cell phone, he was barely conscious and just lay there panting softly for a few minutes, each breath a soft exhale of white. Slowly and with great effort, Sam began to pull the phone out of his pants, stopping and starting as his lucidity wandered.

He no longer thought with any coherency and when he finally saw his phone, he just stared at it, his aching brow, furrowed.

It started to ring again, the face lighting up, and Sam winced at the brightness.

A flicker of color in the meager light captured him, the red scoring his attention and the phone was dropped –

It was his leaf.

His perfect… beautiful leaf.

Torn, soggy, not so perfect anymore, Sam reached for it. His fingers curled weakly around it and he pulled it towards himself, still wanting it, cherishing it. Protective of it. Damaged as it was, it was still Sam's.

Closing his eyes as lassitude overwhelmed him, the hurting hunter wondered what Dean would say if he told him about the leaf.

* * *

Dean drove hard, pushing the Impala to tear up the pavement between him and his brother. Periodically he tried Sam's cell phone growing increasingly frustrated and worried as each call went unanswered.

The car was silent beyond the rumbling of her engine, the man too focused, his thoughts too jagged to tolerate even the sweetest strains of music. Raw, fear coiled low in Dean's gut and twisted at him until bile rose in the back of his throat. Each passing mile maimed, tortured or killed his brother until finally, twenty minutes away from where Sam's car had been found, Dean had to pull over on the side of the road to throw up.

Disgusted with himself, Dean straightened up and wiped an arm across his mouth. "Barely a year out of it, and you've gone soft," he snorted bitterly, reaching under the passenger seat (_Sam's_ seat) for a bottle of water to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth and unable to remember the last time he'd been so scared he's puked. Spiting into the dirt, he was relieved that it was no longer dark outside. The early morning was still grey and threatened rain but it offered more hope than the pitch black of night.

His cell started to ring just as he got back in the driver's seat. Glancing at the display, he saw one word - _'SAM'_ – and just about swallowed his tongue.

"Where the hell are you?" he demanded as soon as he answered, not giving Sam a chance to say anything. "What? You suddenly too good to return a phone call? Sam, I swear -"

"_S'it pretty."_

The words were whisper quiet and Dean, lost in his own tirade, almost missed them. "What?" He waited a heartbeat then glanced back down at the call display just to make sure. "Sam?"

"_M'leaf… s'it pretty."_

Dean's brow furrowed. Sam sounded _wasted_. His temper flared. "Leaf? What the hell? Are you drunk?"

"_Not h'll,"_ the voice continued to slur then became chillingly sober. "R-red runs rivers in h-hell…" and then the phone went dead.

"God-damnit!" Dean snarled. Furious, he slammed his fingers on the buttons of the cell phone and listened as it went, once again, to Sam's voice mail. He waited another moment, tried again and then gave up and called Bobby. "Can you get a GPS fix on the bastard? He just called me."

"_Yeah, and hello to you to,"_ Bobby grumbled. _"Didn't go well, I take it?"_

"Little shit is pissed out of his mind. Now I gotta find him and make sure he doesn't drown in his own vomit or something!" He should have tracked the GPS to begin with; man, he was rusty.

"_Wonderful. Give me a few minutes, I'll call you back."_ And then Bobby hung up on him and Dean continued to drive.

"Probably a good thing, your damn car did get towed," he raved. "Better that then you wrapping it around a freakin' telephone pole…. If they even have telephone poles anymore." He was so angry he could barely see. Sam made him worry. Sam made him leave the comfort of Lisa's bed in the middle of the night. Sam-

Sam sucked as a drunk. Leaves? Really?

His cell phone rang again.

"So where is he?" Dean cut out the pleasantries.

"_You know, boy, you used to have such better manners. Anyway,"_ Bobby scoffed and then paused a moment before asking. _"You sure he's drunk, Dean? 'Cause I got to tell you, his cell puts him in a pretty odd place for a bar…"_

"Doesn't matter," Dean ignored the pitch of panic that threatened at the clear worry in his friend's voice. Bobby wasn't one to waste concern. "I'm going to find him anyway."

"_Okay. I'm just saying… according to what I've got, he's about five miles in from where they found his car."_

"Five miles in what?" Dean's eyes scanned the sides of the road as he drove. There wasn't much on either side but trees and shrubs. He knew he wasn't far from a town but apparently this wasn't a prime real estate location because there weren't any houses around.

"_Five miles in the middle of nowhere. Looks like an old hiking trail or something. Not one hundred percent sure but that's what I got._"

Dean considered Bobby's comments as the older man gave him the location then with a quick, _"call me when you find his ass,"_ hung up.

Ten minutes later, he pulled over by the side of the road and parked. This was the place Sam's car had been found. Getting out of his own, Dean eyed the area looking for any indication of the trail Bobby had mentioned. Sure, the older man hadn't been positive about it but he was seldom wrong on things like this and even more so, Dean's own gut told him that it was right.

For whatever reason, super Sam hunter extraordinaire had gone for a - what? A drunken stroll in the countryside? Nah, more like he was hunting something... but drunk? No way. Not drunk. And that got Dean moving. He slammed the car door closed and then moved towards the trunk. Around him it was quiet but he knew that silence meant nothing good and wondered what his brother had gotten himself into this time.

The familiar weight of the duffle bag settled over his shoulder. He wasn't sure what to expect so he went whole hog. Sam would probably crap on him about it later but Dean wasn't about to get caught with his pants down. It happened too frequently as it was. Damn normal life… Who knew there were so many faux pas' to domesticity?

Seeing what could be a trailhead, Dean scowled as he hefted the bag further up on his shoulder and started to walk. "Five miles in, huh? Lovely, Sam, just freakin' ass lovely." Somehow he just knew this was going to be a very long day.

* * *

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Breathing was all Sam could manage.

His eyes, open to mere slits, didn't focus.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He blinked sluggishly, his cheek pressed into cold vomit.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His body no longer responded to more than just breathing; his fingers curled uselessly, an oddity at the edge of his vision.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He held out a little longer.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

_Come home, Sam_, Lucifer's voice caressed his cold consciousness. _Come home…_

His eyes slid closed and he embraced the darkness.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

I have a terrible case of the nerves on this chapter. I do hope you like it.

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 7**

The leaves crunched loudly under Dean's feet. It seemed that no matter how quietly he tried to walk, the damn things gave him away. Stupid, traitorous, leaves. How could wet, damp dead things sound so crunchy?

_I hate nature_, he mentally groused, his eyes keenly sweeping the area, his ears sharp for any noise. He absently wondered again what Sam was hunting and why he'd track something so far off-road without any backup. Well, at least Dean assumed he was hunting alone, but as he had nothing more than unanswered calls and a towed car to go on, he really had no idea. Hell, there could be a whole bevy of hunters out here with his brother and Sam could, at this very moment, be partying it up with them in some weird ass freaky sneaky hunter hideaway, complete with slutty hunter groupies and beer. Lots and lots of beer. Probably be moonshine and everything.

Dean didn't actually believe that for one second, but it helped keep his mind off all the other more realistic reasons for his brother's incoherency and lack of response, the first aid kit a reassuring weight on his back. He just hoped he didn't have to use it.

It took Dean the better part of two hours to do the five mile trek. He was hot, tired and sweaty and appreciated the grey October chill as he slowed down and listened, hoping to hear something that would lead him to his brother.

The forest around him was quiet, there wasn't even a breeze to rustle the leaves on the tall trees and it unnerved him. _Where are you, bro?_

Something prickled at the back of his neck and Dean knew he was being watched.

Turning slowly, he lowered the duffle to the ground and pulled out a large knife with a serrated and curved edge. Crouching, he waited, his heart starting to pound in anticipation -

And then a small rabbit scattered cover and shot across the trail in front of him making Dean curse loudly and jump back. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, the hand holding the knife pressed firmly against his chest as he heaved hard to take in oxygen, the other hand reaching up to rub across his sweaty forehead. "Stalker bunny."

Shaking his head at his own jumpiness, Dean waited a few more moments just to be sure, in case good old Monty Python had been onto something in that Holy Grail movie with the murdering little rabbit, and then continued on. _I could really use a Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch right about now_, he mused.

The path in front of him suddenly diverted to the side and Dean frowned, his hazel green eyes narrowed as he visually followed a small landslide that both blocked the trail in front of him and pushed the rest of it down the side and into a deep gully.

Pursing his lips, Dean glanced behind him for a second and then looked back at the blockage. "Hmmm…" he mused noticing that the leaves that had been such a nuisance to him so far, didn't cover the debris the same way as the undisturbed part of the trail. "Something recent then," he decided already carefully moving to peer over the edge. He didn't believe in coincidences.

The landslide had cleared a dirt path through the foliage and towards a cluster of larger boulders at the bottom. It was hard to see very well but closer to the one of the larger rocks, something caught his attention. A hint of white against dark brown.

Dean frowned. It could be frost… It _was_ late enough in the year for it, but –

_Ah, what the hell..._

Cupping his hands over his mouth, he yelled, "Sam? Sammy?"

His voice echoed around him.

Side stepping, Dean moved further down the enfacement, gravel skittered under his feet, his gaze focused on the white.

It looked like –

Oh. My. God.

"Sam," the word breathed out all the air in his lungs and then Dean was running, slipping and sliding towards the still form almost completely buried under trail and rock. "No!"

Falling by Sam, his knees smacking hard as he dropped the duffle bag and reached out with a shaking hand, Dean's eyes frantically scanned his brother. "Sam?_ Sammy?_"

Warm fingers pressed against a cold throat.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dean chanted then pressed harder, desperate. Tears burned, his chest felt too tight. Sam looked dead. "No!" he barked. This couldn't be it. Sam did _not_ come back from hell to die like this. Moving his fingers a little lower, Dean tried again and almost sobbed when he felt the flutter, faint and thready but there.

Sam was alive but in serious trouble.

"Sam? Bro?" he tried to wake Sam. His hands twitched to give him a little shake but, without any idea of how badly his brother was injured, Dean settled for rubbing at the side of Sam's throat, just beneath the pulse point. "C'mon, man, wakey, wakey." Sam didn't even twitch. "Damnit, Sam. Don't do this – c'mon!"

The stillness settled heavy and churned new fear.

"Okay, buddy, just take it easy then, okay, _Sammy?_ I'm gonna get you out of here… You're going to be just fine." Dean rambled as he fumbled out his cell phone to call for help. There was no way he was going to be able to get Sam out of here by himself. His brother needed more help than he could give him.

Quickly barking out the necessary information to the 9-1-1 operator, Dean waited for her assurance that help was on the way, rolled his eyes when she told him not to move his brother and then hung up.

Still kneeling next to his brother, Dean yanked off his coat. "Help's on the way, Sam, just hold on, okay?" Gently he lay it over Sam's exposed upper body careful not to jar the injured man. He had no idea how badly his brother was hurt. Except for one arm and shoulder, his neck, and head, Sam was completely covered in dirt and debris, having been shoved up against and under a large boulder.

Panic pounded Dean's heart and he was forced to close his eyes and take a couple of deep breaths. He opened his eyes again. Freaking out wasn't going to help anything.

"What the hell were you doing out here by yourself, huh?" he asked gruffly as he re-checked Sam's pulse and winced at the ugly gash on his brother's forehead and the vivid bruises purpling his temple. "What were you hunting?" The memory of his brother's slurred words had Dean bowing his head. "Oh God, bro," he whispered, his voice thick. "I thought – I thought you were drunk."

_And that might be the last time you ever talk to him. T_he thought ghosted Dean as a hot tear burned his face. "No, god-damnit! No!" Hurling himself to his feet, Dean started to yell, "Cas! Castiel! Get down here! We need you! Cas!"

He waited a few moments and tried again. "Cas! C'mon. Castiel!"

But there was whooshing of air. No angel in a rumpled suit. Nothing.

"Damnit, Cas," he whispered then turned back to his brother. _Sorry, Sammy,_ he thought as he crouched back down.

He saw the cell phone lying next Sam's lax fingers… and a leaf.

A mangled, crushed leaf.

It didn't fit it among the rest of the debris, a spot of color that had him shaking his head sadly. It didn't belong here, as out of place among the granite and dirt as his brother.

Scrubbing at his wet face, Dean twisted around and pulled the duffle bag closer. He needed to do something to try and help.

His hands trembled, but not from the cold, as Dean struggled with the zipper on the first aid kit. "What the hell?" he growled when he finally managed to yank it open, and then stared blankly at the contents inside. He looked back at his brother, unsure, his mind fumbling as badly as his fingers had only moments before as he struggled to remember basic first aid. Shivering slightly, Dean dug through the kit until he found the foil blanket. Quickly opening it, he added that as an extra layer over his brother unmindful of his own discomfort. Sam was a hell of a lot colder than him.

He checked Sam's pulse again. Still there. Then sat on his ass next to his brother, his legs bent up as he leaned over. Dean whispered, "_Sammy…_" He kept his fingers against his brother's cold throat this time, needing to feel, to know Sam was still alive. He didn't look alive.

Hair stuck to the blood on the side of Sam's white face and Dean reached out with his other hand to gently tug it away. "I don't know how to help you." It hurt to admit. "But if you want to wake up any time now… well, that'd be real good."

Dean swallowed hard. How long had Sammy been here? Hurting and needing help? Remorse burned a new path down his face. Hastily he scrubbed it away. The smell of stale vomit and urine made his stomach churn. "Oh, Sam…"

Time counted in heartbeats.

Sam's.

"What's taking them so long?" he muttered as he shifted, the cold of the ground seeping through his jeans. Sam's body felt as cold and Dean was absurdly tempted to lie down next to him but settled for stroking the clammy skin on his brother's neck instead. "C'mon, bro, just keep hanging in, okay?"

Sam's hand was filthy, the fingers bloody and Dean wondered about that for a moment. Had the kid tried to dig himself out? Was that what he was doing while Lisa was warming Dean's bed?

It tore something inside him and he had to look away.

The sound of ATV's had Dean standing. Reluctant to leave his brother, he settled for yelling and waving his arms when he saw a man standing on the top of the gully. The guy returned the yell and Dean was almost giddy with relief – help was here.

Turning back to Sam, Dean crouched back down. "Just a bit longer, Sammy, I promise. We're gonna get you out. I swear to God, little brother, you aren't dying today."

And then the rescue team converged on them.

* * *

It took them a lot longer to get Sam uncovered than Dean liked. He paced, helpless and anxious as the EMT's worked on stabilizing Sam while other rescuers finished clearing the dirt away. He got as close as he dared, not wanting to interfere as the team, a young black man and an older Hispanic dude, started an IV but needing to be there. It took three tries but they finally got a line in. Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when they did.

"How are we going to get him out of here?" He wanted to know as he crouched back down next to Sam and brushed a hand along his brother's thigh, brushed at the dirt that still clung to Sam. Even his untrained eye could see how badly the younger hunter was messed up. Dislocated shoulder for sure, Dean winced in sympathy, probable broken ribs, and that was just at a glance. There was no way that Sam was riding an ATV out.

"Medi-evac," the Hispanic guy said as they secured Sam's neck.

"There's a clearing about a half a mile from here," the other medic added, closely watching Sam's vitals as they prepared to move him onto the back board they'd carried down with them. "Chopper'll meet us."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay," he licked his lips worriedly, not keen on the idea of flying but when Sam's vitals suddenly bottomed out and the two medics started yelling that it was time to go, they couldn't get him onto that flight fast enough. There was no way Sam was going anywhere without Dean right now.

Following as his brother's stretcher was carefully but quickly moved from the gully, Dean spared one final glance back over his shoulder. A splash of red caught his attention but then he blinked it away and hurried to catch up to Sam.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the delay. Hope you enjoy it!

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 8**

Sam dreamt of Dean.

It was a cruel and heartless dream where his brother offered him soft assurances and quiet strength, telling Sam it was okay and that Dean would be there when he woke up.

But when Sam did finally awake from more than muzzled comprehension and still under the heavy drag of drugs, he was alone. And cold.

In a bed next to a window in a quiet hospital room.

His gaze lazily roved the small room. He hadn't expected to wake up –

_Come home, Sam… Come home…_

Sudden panic surged – _get out, get away_ – and he tried to move, struggling to push himself up, panting from the exertion; the pain was drug-muted but still sharp.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A man's voice barked and Sam stilled, his eyes snapping towards the door and captured by a fierce green glare.

Dean stepped into the room, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cell in the other. The door smacked shut behind him.

"Dean?" Sam froze. He gaped at his brother.

"Last I looked," came an almost bitter reply as Dean approached the bed and continued to glare at him. "Jesus, Sam, I only left for five minutes."

"But? Wha-?" Confused, Sam groaned softly and sank back against the bed as fresh agony shot up his right shoulder hating him past the drugs. He'd figured that one had been dislocated… Recognizing the dull throb of broken ribs, he glanced down with some curiosity at the cast on his right arm. It ran from his fingers up to his elbow, Sam sighed. This was going to make it a bitch to hunt. Feeling his brother's gaze on him, Sam tore his attention from the triage. Working to clear his throat, he finally managed, "Wha' you doing 'ere?" The drugs being pumped through his system by an IV dragged each word out.

"Making sure you don't do anything else stupid." Dean slumped down in the chair next to his bed. "Looks like I got back in the nick of time. What'd you think you were doing anyway?" He finished off his coffee and tossed into the garbage next to the bed.

"Getting the hell out of here. You up to driving the get-away car?" Sam's mind was whirling as he focused back on his brother. He wanted to ask for an extra blanket.

Dean snorted. "Oh that'd be a hell of a feat. Even from you." He crossed his arms against is chest and leaned back in the chair. "Two busted ankles, bro, you ain't going anywhere fast."

Blanching, Sam lifted the sheet and stared down his long body. Shit. Shit. Shit. Casts on both legs. Closing his eyes, Sam huffed tiredly. One broken leg would have been difficult enough but two? What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn't even drive like this.

"Broken ribs, bad concussion, hypothermia, exposure… oh lets not forget the collar bone broken in two places, the dislocated shoulder that had to be put back in place in the O.R, and pretty much every bone broken in your hand and wrist. Quite a feat actually." Sam opened his eyes and peered daggers at his brother. "I think the only things still good on you are your internal organs. _Thank God_."

The actual relief in Dean's voice bit off Sam's sardonic reply.

"So unless you've got some magical healing beans in your back pocket, you ain't going anywhere." Dean finished.

Sam fought the urge to chew his lip. They felt chapped in a face that was hot and swollen. Dean hadn't mentioned anything about the undoubtedly spectacular bruising he'd have going on. "So? In other words. I'm screwed." Sam finally summed up, working hard to keep from slurring. Exhaustion was pressing down on him and he wanted to sleep but he fought it, unwilling for Dean to leave yet, positive his brother would go. Sam was still trying to believe his brother was even here to begin with.

Dean barked out a laugh. It wasn't really a happy sound. Then he leaned forward and a genuine smile cracked his face. It made Sam frown in confusion. "Dude, you have no idea."

"I don't understand." Sam admitted, reaching up with his good hand _(and what a joke that was as even his 'good hand' was a mess of cuts) _to rub at his eyes. The light in the room was starting to bother him as the beginnings of a headache crept past the pain meds, and his fingers, cold and stiff, offered meager comfort.

"I told Bobby."

Sam's confusion grew, his hand dropped back to the bed.

"He's on his way. With the van."

Sam still didn't get the significance.

The smile on Dean's face morphed into a more familiar one of concern. Something spiked deep in Sam at the change. He shifted on the bed, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Sam, you were listening to me, right?

Sam nodded.

"I just told you how messed up you are, right?"

Another nod but Sam still wasn't seeing where Dean was going as he tried to think past the drilling in the back of his head. It was getting worse with each breath.

"He's coming to pick you up." Dean waited for him to make the connection then just huffed out. "Dude, you're going to be staying with him for a bit."

A rush of intense nausea drove Sam towards the side rails.

"_Sam!"_

Strong arms caught him as he puked –

"_Whoa!"_

Holding him as he doubled over –

"_Dude!"_

Keeping him from falling.

"_Easy, bro…"_

Pain tore through his chest as he heaved.

"_Breathe, Sam, breathe…"_

Tears burned his cheeks as he gasped –

"_Don't fight it, don't fight it."_

Desperate to try and suck it all back.

"_I need help in here!"_

Dean's voice was a blur of platitude and panic.

"_Sammy!"_

And then as the next wave tore through him, Sam lurched and everything went white.

* * *

Dean never wanted to see something like that again. Ever.

As the nurses quickly and efficiently cleaned Sam up, re-set the IV that had gotten ripped out of his arm, and then tucked Sam back under the sheets, Dean stood next to the door. A shaking hand rubbed at his mouth as he willed his heart to slow the hell down before he had a heart attack. But that was. Just. Awful.

One minute Sam had seemed okay. Sure he looked like crap and was definitely in a world of hurt, but he was also mostly coherent (_and awake finally, can't forget the awake part_) and talking to Dean. Then the next minute Sam was hurling himself over the edge of the bed, and if Dean hadn't moved as quickly as he did, the kid would have face planted on the floor – and puked all over himself. Spasm after spasm tore Sam apart until just as a nurse finally answered Dean's frantic calls, his brother had gone boneless. Passed out, and that was now ten minutes ago. And Dean seemed to be the only one concerned about it.

"Well?" he demanded for the fifth time as the last nurse turned away from Sam and gave him a tight smile. He moved back to his brother's bedside and peered down that the bruised and swollen face. "Is he okay?"

"Nausea is not uncommon with these types of head injury," her voice irritated the hell out of Dean. She patted his arm patronizingly as she passed. "Let him rest. He'll be okay. Ring us if you need anything else." And then she was gone, just as helpful as a kick in the ass. God, Dean hated hospitals.

"You know," he grumbled as he sat down next to Sam and reached through the bed railings to curl his fingers around the lax hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze, "I don't do this kind of shit for just anybody so you'd better appreciate this. And that's without even mentioning the whole flying in that death trap thing." He frowned as he noticed how cold his brother's hand was. Standing up again, he ran his fingers down the side of Sam's rough stubbled jaw and along the pale throat, letting them rest for a moment on pulse point. "Geez, bro. You're still a popsicle." He muttered, letting his hand drop and glancing around the room. He eyed what looked like a small supply closet. "Hold on a sec."

Inside he found a couple more blankets and grabbed both of them. One he carefully laid over is brother, the other he hung over the back of the visitor's chair, just in case Sam was still cold when he woke up.

Slumping back down heavily in the chair, Dean sighed and waited. He wished Bobby would hurry up and get here, unwilling to leave the room again, even to touch base with Lisa in case Sam woke up, like he had the last time Dean had stepped out.

Dean snorted softly. Yeah… typical Sam. Dean steps out of the room for five minutes and that is when the kid wakes up. Not to mention the fact that said kid was trying to bust out, two broken legs and all. Dean wasn't sure if he should be proud of Sam for his tenacity or smack him for being so stupid.

Some days it really was a tossup. Or at least it used to be. Dean wasn't so certain anymore but he was determined that things were going to go to be different this time with Sam. He couldn't just let his brother walk away again.

* * *

When Sam came to again, he was panting softly, his aching body pressed back against the bed and the lights in the room muted. Things were quiet but this time he wasn't alone. Bobby was standing with his back to Sam, looking out the window. It was dark outside but Sam had no idea about the time. This late in the fall it could be late afternoon or the middle of the night. And he was still cold, although someone had given him an extra blanket.

"B- Bobby-" he had to clear his throat to get the word out but the man was already turning towards him. Bobby gave him a stern look.

"Damn, boy," he gruffed, moving to stand next to Sam's bed. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

_Lucky?_ Sam grimaced, the word distasteful even as a thought. He was many, many things, lucky was not one of them.

"Yeah, I said _lucky_," Bobby snorted as if reading Sam's mind. "What damn fool idea was it to go traipsing off like that? Without anyone even knowing where you were? You're damn lucky that damn car got towed or your damn ass'd be a permanent part of Mother Nature right now! Geez, boy – _damnit_."

Sam slowly reached up and gingerly rubbed at his head, the movement pulling on his hurting body. His mouth tasted sour and he desperately wanted a drink. Not sure what Bobby wanted him to say, he asked instead, "W-water?" and wondered where Dean was. Maybe he had dreamt his brother… wouldn't be the first time…

"Ah, shit, sorry," Bobby apologized moving out of Sam's line of sight. "Hold on a second." Sam closed his eyes, too miserable to even want to see where the man was going. He heard the sound of water running and then Bobby was back and a bent straw was pressed against his lips. "Sips," he was cautioned. "Dean said you puked already and I don't think your ribs would appreciate a second go round."

The liquid was cool in his mouth and it took all of Sam's self control not to just gulp it down. But after a few careful sips he pulled back, silently signaling he'd had enough for now. He still felt cold.

"Good," Bobby seemed pleased as he moved the glass away and then sat down next to the bed. "You look like crap." He added, honest as ever but Sam knew there was relief behind the words. He could feel it, thick and thinly disguised.

"You look," he eyed the older man. Ballcap, stubble, plaid shirt. "The same."

"Gee, thanks," Bobby huffed then sat back in the chair.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked.

"Gone to call Lisa."

Sam felt an unfair twinge of jealousy. He tramped it down. "Oh," he said instead.

Bobby eyed him speculatively as Sam picked at the edge of his cast. "Sam?"

The concern in the man's voice had Sam sighing softly. He forced a smile and met Bobby's gaze briefly. "I'm okay. Just tired."

"That's to be expected. Dean tell ya, you're coming back to my place for a bit once they cut you loose?"

Sam stared at Bobby. "Wha-" His heart started to pound _– no, no, no -_ but before he could say anything else Dean bumped open the door with his hip and strode in.

"Good, you're awake and not puking… how's the head?" Dean handed one of the two coffees he was carrying to Bobby. He didn't wait for an answer as he looked at Sam. "See, told ya you were screwed. Nursemaid Bobby?" he gave an exaggerated shudder. "Man wields a scary bed-pan and an even scarier bed-side manner."

"I am right here," Bobby groused as he took a sip of the hot drink.

Sam started to shake his head, ignoring the warning flares of pain along his skull and the back of his neck. The idea of staying with Bobby was suffocating… and terrifying. He couldn't do this. Bobby would know. He would find out. Sam wouldn't be able to hide it, not with Bobby sleeping down the hall. And then Bobby would tell Dean… and Dean would know. Would find out just how fucked up Sam was. "No," he whispered, swallowed hard and raised his voice. "No!"

"No?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "This isn't a choice, Sam. In case you haven't noticed, both your legs are broken. And your hand, and – really? Do I need to go on." Anger flashed across Dean's face. "I can't believe you. Or yeah, actually I can-" He opened his mouth, obviously intending to say more when Bobby suddenly stood and grabbed his arm.

"Outside, Dean. _Now._"

Bobby didn't wait to see if Dean was following, just turned on his heels and strode out the door.

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you to everyone who took the time to comment on the last chapter._

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 9**

"Okay, you want to tell me what that was all about?" Bobby turned towards Dean as soon as they were outside the room. He kept his voice low.

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. "I'm _trying_ to get that stubborn ass to your house, what does it look like?"

Bobby lifted his eyebrows. "Really? Is that it is? Because I got to say, boy, yelling at your brother and _telling_ him what to do has always worked so well in the past, hasn't it?"

"Bobby-" Dean started but the older man held up his hand.

"I know you're worried about him, Dean. I do… Hell, I watched you wear a hole in the floor waiting for word on Sam and I saw the look on your face when you were told you could finally see him… just - don't forget that, okay? Nothing is going to drive that kid away any faster than you going all John Winchester on his ass." He paused and added. "No disrespect, of course."

"Of course." Dean rolled his eyes then sighed. His irritation deflated, the days of worry and hurry starting to catch up with him. He hadn't slept since leaving Lisa the night before last.

Dean leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest and tipped his head back. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Yeah he remembered too. Looking across at Bobby, he gazed at the man who'd become a father to him. "I just want him to get better." He admitted.

Bobby fixed him with compassion. "We both do." He easily agreed. "But that'll go a heck of a lot smoother if we can get Sam working with us on this instead of fighting every step of the way."

"Yeah… and just how exactly do we do that?" Dean was open to suggestion, his own frayed nerves bouncing around too much to think past the end result: Sam convalescing at Bobby's. It made the most sense.

"Well, you could ask him what he wants to do."

Dean immediately frowned. He shook his head. "Sam already knows he's going to your place."

"Because you _told_ him he was."

"Well, yeah." Dean was starting to get a head-ache.

"And he said he didn't want to go." Bobby reminded him.

"I was there for that part, Bobby… What's your point?" Dean was tired of beating around the bush.

"So maybe ask him for a plan B then since your plan A obviously sucks."

"Going to your place is never a bad plan," Dean started to defend then a small smile twisted his lips and he added. "Unless of course, you're getting your groove on – then, well that's just nasty."

A blush colored Bobby's cheek as he sputtered. "That-that only happened, _once_! And it was your own fault. Damn idjits."

"Still. It was a lot more of Singer _Salvage_ than either me or Sammy needed to see. _Ever_." Dean couldn't help but tease. There was no way in hell he'd ever forget the image of a naked Bobby standing in the living-room, holding a sawed off shotgun.

"Yeah, well," Bobby grumbled. "Taught you to knock next time, didn't it?"

"That it did," Dean agreed then let his smile drop as he reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. "So, uh, I guess I should have probably asked Sam, first?"

"Probably." Bobby agreed. "Look, I know it ain't easy but we need to remember that this isn't Sam from a year ago. A lot has happened since then."

"You're telling me," Dean grumbled then pursed his lips in consideration. "His plan B is probably going to hold up with Samuel and his merry little band of hunters or… something."

"You don't care much for them, do you?" Bobby never did miss much.

"To put it bluntly? No. There's just something about them. About this whole situation that just – I dunno… it just doesn't feel right and I most certainly do not want Sam hanging out there while he gets better." Dean spat the words out bitterly. There was more to it than that but he wasn't ready to admit it. But the older man was too perceptive for his own good sometimes.

"You're jealous."

It wasn't a question and it wasn't something Dean wanted to talk about so instead he just snorted, shoved away from the wall and grabbed the handle on the door intending to go back inside and talk to Sam. He didn't like leaving his brother alone for very long, not putting it past the tenacious hunter to try another escape, broken legs be damned.

Bobby's next comment made him pause.

"He might want to go back with you. To Lisa's."

Dean froze. _Lisa's?_ That thought hadn't even occurred to him when he was busy making plans after finding out just how badly Sam was hurt. Well actually that wasn't true. He had thought about Lisa's, first thing, but then quickly discarded it. _Aw, shit._ What if Sam asked him? What was Dean going to say?

"Dean?" Bobby moved closer. "Could he go with you there?"

"No," the words slipped out of Dean's mouth uncensored, "he can't." Without explaining to the other man, he yanked open the door and went back inside.

* * *

Sam was almost asleep when Dean came back in the room, the drugs in his system working hard to take him down, no matter how much he'd been keyed up by Dean's words and his own fear.

Shivering slightly even under an extra blanket, he watched his brother as Dean paused a moment just inside the room, as if recomposing himself, then came to stand by the bed. Sam had expected him to sit down right away but his brother didn't. Instead Dean seemed suddenly very uncomfortable as he shifted slightly and leaned forward bracing his hands on the bed rails.

Up close Dean looked like absolute crap, probably worse than Sam in some ways. His face was bloodless, his smile lines dragged down by weariness and worry. Sam wondered when the last time was that his brother had slept. It made him curse the djinns once again for forcing his hand, for making him invade the quiet life Dean had built up for himself. But there had been no choice and no one else close enough that Sam trusted to save Dean. Not even Samuel or Christian.

He wanted to say something to take the apprehension off Dean's face, to make some sort of light comment about Dean obviously having survived the wrath of Bobby, but he didn't, unsure how his brother would take it right now. After a moment, Dean spoke.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam blinked in surprise. _Sorry?_

Dean continued. He didn't look at Sam, his gaze laser focused on the wall across from him. "I should have asked what _you_ wanted to do – shouldn't have just assumed you'd want to do the sensible…" he paused and offered Sam a weak smile. "Sorry." He apologized again, this time his eyes briefly meeting Sam's before darting away again. "Shouldn't have assumed you'd want to go to Bobby's…" He gave a vague shrug then just asked. "What _do_ you want to do?"

_Go with you._

Sam didn't say it. He wanted to. Oh God, he wanted to but Dean had his own life now; a family that loved him and that he was apart of. One that wasn't a messed up ex-demon blood junkie with more issues than a cross-dressing girl in a man's body in a girl's dress. "I d-dunno." He admitted instead, his words stuttered slightly as he shivered.

"Are you cold?" Dean narrowed his eyes, his attention fully on his brother now. Twisting around, he grabbed another blanket from the back of the chair. Sam hadn't even noticed it before. "Geez, Sam – you gotta tell me these things!" He made quick work spreading the blanket over Sam, tucking it around his injured arm and shoulder carefully.

"Can't s-seem to g-get warm," Sam admitted groaning slightly as even the minute shivers rippled increasing pain through his broken body. Sleep pulled at him but he still fought it.

"That's the hypothermia and exposure. Doc said it could be a week or more before you'd fully be back to norm. Well… whatever is norm for you." Dean tried to tease but it fell flat. Shrugging slightly, he finally finished fussing with Sam's blankets and sat down in the chair. "You remember much about what happened?"

It was Dean's subtle way of asking what the hell Sam was doing out in the middle of nowhere, unarmed and in training sweats. An image of red and the smell of decay had him closing his eyes and gingerly shaking his head. There was no way he was ever telling his brother about that stupid leaf. No way.

"Huh. Must be the concussion… Oh well. Just curious." Dean's tone was deceptively dismissive. Sam knew his brother didn't believe for a second that Sam couldn't remember. "I found you, you know? Eating dirt and taking a nap. Man, Sammy, talk about communing with nature… most people pay a shit load of money to go to a spa for _that_ privilege. Thank God for cell phones." It wasn't much but at least answered some of Sam's questions about how his rescue played out. "And nosy cops for that matter, since it was the 5-0 who found your car and called Bobby. I got called and well, the rest, they say, is history."

Warmth tightened like a vice and Sam tried to breath through it. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be worried about. Funny how one year and a little thing like spending some time in the cage with Lucifer could do that to a guy…

"Sorry," it was his turn to apologize. Sam could easily imagine the tailspin Bobby's call must have put Dean in. Then he asked, because it mattered to him. "Lisa pissed?"

"At me?" Dean barked it out like a laugh. "Nah. Never. You on the other hand?" He was laughing and Sam was certain it was supposed to be a joke but it still made him feel like crap. "A 'thank-you-for-letting-the-love-of-your-life-leave-in-the-middle-of-the-night-to-save-my-ass' card might be appreciated." Dean must have seen a look on Sam's face because he stopped laughing and leaned forward, one hand holding on to the bed rail again, the other snaking through it to give Sam's knee a very soft squeeze before sitting back. "I'm tormenting, dude. Lisa was fine with it. Both she and Ben were pretty worried about you actually."

"When… when ya leaving?" Sam found it getting harder to keep his eyes open as warmth finally started to seep into his body from the extra blanket. He blinked sluggishly.

"Leaving?" Dean sounded confused. "Where am I going?"

"H-home." Sam struggled over the word but not because he was cold or tired this time. It physically hurt – sucked the breath out of his lungs – to think that Dean had a home someplace… other then him. He vaguely wondered if this is what Dean had felt like when Sam was at school. And as quick as that, all the fight went out of Sam. "I'll- I'll go to Bobby's." He managed, forcing a weak smile. "You don't have to stay." _And neither will I_, he silently added, not quite sure on the logistics of it yet, but he'd figure something out.

"Dude? You trying to get rid of me so soon?" Dean scoffed. "Gee, Sam, I'm wounded."

Sam shook his head slowly, swallowing as a new bout of pounding threatened his increasingly tenuous hold on consciousness. His body was getting ready to take the choice of sleep, away. "I don't – I don't get it…. I thought-"

"Sam, when I said _you're_ going to Bobby's, I just thought you'd know… _we're_ going to Bobby's." Dean leaned forward again, determined to make sure his brother got it. "Yeah… some things have changed – I've been working nine to five _and_ paying taxes for one thing – but, bro, not that much. _Never_ that much… You're hurt and it's going to be a while before you're back on your feet, so until then, you're stuck with Dr. Dean and Nurse Bobby, whether you like it or not, so just suck it up, buttercup, and enjoy it for what it is-" Dean grinned, a true shit-eating-Dean-Winchester grin and it lifted something heavy from Sam's soul. "-permission to slave drive!"

Sam swallowed hard. "Are… are you sure? Lisa -"

"-is not what you need to be worrying about," Dean sat back and crossed his long legs in front of him, leaving no misunderstanding about him wanting to stay. "Go to sleep, Sammy… I'm not going anywhere until you're ready to go."

And God help him, but there was no more powerful sedative then those words and within moments, Sam was asleep, feeling safe for the first time in a very long time.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks for all the wonderful comments! Here is the next chapter - one more to go after this. I'd apologize for the delay but you guys all know what RL is like :) Happy New Year!

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 10**

"Is he asleep yet?" Bobby asked a very frustrated Winchester when Dean stalked into the kitchen and slammed a mug down on the counter. "I'll take that as a no then."

It had been two days since Dean and Bobby had secreted a hurting and badly incapacitated Sam out of the hospital and back to the scrap-yard under the guise of darkness, and a well-placed bribe. But since then, Sam had refused to take any painkillers and hadn't slept at all.

The stubborn hunter just sat there, semi propped on a bed in Bobby's downstairs guest room (the very one Bobby himself had been using before getting his legs back) and just stared, barely saying more than a few words unless forced to.

Glaring at his friend, Dean slumped down at the table and actually growled. "I should just knock him out – that'd make him sleep."

"And probably kill him, considering the concussion he's still nursing… But, yeah, you're right, one way or another he'd definitely get some rest." Bobby's tone was mild as he slid a glass of whiskey in front of Dean and then sat down across from him.

"How the hell does he expect to get back on his feet if he doesn't give himself a chance to heal?" Dean demanded as he just stared at the drink.

Bobby didn't answer right away. He took a swig of his own whiskey then shrugged, "Don't know – he still not talking?"

"Not saying much," Dean grumbled before swallowing down the burning amber and admitting, "This sucks! I don't know what to do. Not like I can really force him to do anything anymore."

"I wish I had some words of wisdom on this one, Dean, I really do, but the best I can offer is that we just have to wait him out. He's going to need to sleep, eventually." Bobby advised carefully.

"I know," Dean admitted glumly. "Still sucks though."

Bobby agreed with a nod of his head as they finished their drinks in silence, listening for any sounds from the guest room.

* * *

Sam knows his brother is pissed at him. He knows he should take the pills sitting on the bureau next to him – and the warming glass of water next to it _does_ look inviting. He also knows he has to sleep, that his body needs it to heal. Yes, he knows all these things but he also knows what waits for him in his slumber and that he doesn't need.

Adam had been waiting for Sam at Bobby's.

Silent and condemning, his dark eyes had followed Sam as Dean and Bobby settled him in the room. The trip from the hospital itself had been an excruciating blend of wet windshields and dark roads; a cloak and dagger adventure coloured by the blur of painkillers and blessed with spurts of unconsciousness. The finer details, thankfully, beyond Sam's recollection.

So far the apparition hadn't said or done anything, but he didn't have to. Just his being there tormented.

"Please." Sam let the word past his parched and bruised lips. Living in agony, his broken and bruised body was a constant stream of pain that he offered as penance to the damning spectre. What he wanted was to run, to escape, to get away. The need was buzzing like a live wire just beneath his skin. It was tangible, visceral, an entity that needed to be exorcised. And exercised.

But he couldn't.

He was trapped here, in a cage of flesh of bone, of his own making, of his own stupidity.

Sam had let his guard down.

Somehow he should have known, predicated that the ground was unstable. Or something.

In the corner, Adam shifted and Sam tensed waiting for the explosion of condemnation he knew was coming. It was always coming.

And then Adam was gone and Sam realized with startled horror what this meant.

Oh God, no!

No!

Nooooo!

He had fallen asleep.

_"You suck as a brother." Adam's voice was a curl of hot breath at the back of his neck. He wasn't screaming yet but Sam knew it was only a matter of time. Lucifer treated their brotherhood like an item of curiosity and always allowed Adam a little leeway to torment Sam before finding new ways to rip the boy apart. _

_This time was no different; Lucifer was self-occupied manipulating Sam's body from the inside. Sam's pain was the price of Adam's momentary reprieve._

_Sam stifled back a scream, putting his teeth through his own bottom lip as his own fingers dragged lines of blood and agony across his own stomach. His blunt nails worked at a spot, finally hooking the skin so he could pull it back, meticulously flaying himself from the waist down._

_"You put me here – you bastard!" Adam roared, suddenly right in Sam's face, ignorant of the danger of being so close. "You and Dean!" Lucifer continued to pick at Sam's skin, outwardly seemingly oblivious to Adam's diatribe, inwardly though… Sam could feel the devil's attention. He tried to warn Adam but Lucifer bit off his tongue –_

Sam came awake, teeth biting through sore lips and breathing harshly as he swallowed back the scream. Covered in a cold sweat, his body shaking hard, he tried to move. Grasping at his injured arm, he leaned forward, finally crying out as waves of agony ripped through his body. "Oh hell," he grunted. "Oh hell."

And then Dean was there, calloused hands gentle on his arms as he tried to get Sam to lean back.

"Hey, hey," Dean chided. "What do you think you're doing, man? What's wrong?"

Sam closed his eyes and let his brother resettle him. Traitorous tears burned his face as he turned away, not wanting Dean to ask. Never wanting his brother to know but, Dean, being Dean, saw it all.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" his older brother asked. Sam felt the bed dip beside him as Dean sat down, ever careful not to jar Sam.

_Not that I deserve that kinda consideration_, Sam thought bitterly. _Adam is right, I suck as a brother_. He managed to snake his good arm up and scrubbed hard at his face, sadistically relishing the harshness on his skin.

"Okay, bro, I'm trying to be patient here… I really am but – Look, I think we both know that something is going on here. And since you have such a stellar track record of handling things on your own – no, no, let me finish," Dean spoke over Sam when Sam opened his mouth to protest. "I'm not trying to be jerk about it – I am way over all that crap – but I need you to tell me what is going on. What's going on with you?"

Sam shook his head mutely as he opened his eyes and watched his brother. He had no idea even where to start, even if he wanted to unload on his brother, which he didn't. That wasn't fair to Dean.

"Fine." Dean sighed heavily as he leaned forward on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted making Sam feel worse. He dropped his hand and glared at Sam. "Not fine." He decided. "Not fine, at all. Answer me this – you didn't want to come here, why not? Since when do you have a problem going to Bobby's?"

"Let me ask you something instead?" Sam challenged, determined to get the attention off himself. "Why Bobby's? Why didn't you want me to go with you to Lisa's?" Of course, Sam wouldn't have gone, not wanting to put Dean's family in any of the danger that seemed to suffocate Sam's life. But the sadistic part of him needed to hear it; needed to hear his brother acknowledge what a fuck up Sam was.

Dean visibly flinched. The muscle in his jaw twitched and he glanced away from Sam.

Feeling vindicated that Dean would drop things, he was surprised when his brother quietly admitted. "Because I'm selfish… I don't like to share."

Fresh tears burned Sam's eyes and he hated every one of them. Of course. He hadn't thought about that – but it made sense. Why should Dean have to share his normal with Sam? Poor guy had had to share enough, right?

But then Dean was continuing and Sam was left reeling. "Because you're my brother, _mine_, and I just didn't want to share _you_ with them. It seemed wrong, you know? I just – man, Sammy, how the hell do you get me to do this? You know I hate this crap! But well, it's _you_. You, Sam… And I didn't want them getting to know and love you too 'cause then it'd feel like it wasn't just me and you, you know?" Dean huffed looking flustered. "Stupid, huh?"

Sam was speechless. On the crux of Adam calling him out, Dean was wrapping him in something else. And he had no idea what to say, what to do with it. How do you counter that kind of love?

_You don't_, he finally decided, _you just give back_.

His gaze dropped to his lap. Fingers, still chilled, picked idly at his cast as he fidgeted. "I'm – ah – not handling things as well as – uh – you think," Sam finally admitted. He felt Dean's gaze, laser focused on him, as he continued. "I've been having nightmares. Well, not just nightmares… sometimes they happen when I'm awake." Dean tensed and Sam rushed to add. "Not visions – thank God. Only honest to goodness nightmares. Memories… you know? That kind of thing…"

Dean didn't say anything, but Sam felt him press closer; the heat of his brother's body driving the remaining chill from his body and Sam felt a warmth, beyond hell's own, for the first time in days.

"When I first got out," Sam continued, everything starting to pour out and hoping Dean could follow the jump in conversation. "I went to Bobby's – well that's not true, I went to see you first _then_ I went to Bobby's. He wanted me to come in." Sam sighed tiredly, the pain in his body making him clench his teeth as he glanced longingly at the white pills on the bureau but still refused them. "But I couldn't. I know it sounds stupid – but it just felt wrong being here without you." He blushed and chuckled nervously. Dean gave his leg a little squeeze. Maybe not so stupid, then?

"And this time?" Dean finally spoke, prodding quietly.

"And this time? Well, at first I was worried you were farming me out – I know, I know," he gave his brother a little smile when Dean opened his mouth, "but at the time I was worried about it and-" he gave a dismissive shrug, not wanting his brother to make a big deal about this, "well, then there's the nightmares… I wake up screaming the nights I don't drug myself into unconsciousness – and I didn't want you, or anyone, to realize just what a head-case I am now. Hell really messed me up, bad… I'm sorry, Dean, I'm just not as strong as you were. _Are._ I can't seem to get past this. That day, of the accident, I was out running. Sometimes I just got to run, to get away when I start thinking too much… and I got side-tracked. By a leaf, just a simple leaf. I don't know why… I just saw it and it looked so perfect so untouched by all the crap we've been through. So not like me and I stopped to watch it. I was going to bring it back. Don't know why – it was. Just stupid." He stopped, then waited for whatever Dean wanted to say.

"You idiot," Dean chided with a soft snort and an undercurrent of affection. "How do you think it was for me? When I first got back? You think I buried myself in whiskey and sleeping pills just because I loved the buzz? No, man… Hell rode my ass. It was everywhere I looked, in everything I touched and there every time I closed my eyes. I'm not any stronger than you are, Sam, not at all… But I do have something that you didn't, not until now, anyways. I had my little brother, my best friend, my partner right there watching my back. You? Listening to me? Offering no judgements? _That_ is how I survived hell. It has nothing to do with who is stronger or any of that crap! Hell is _supposed_ to break you and that is what it is does. But the fact that you know just how messed up you are, tells me something even more important." Sam's attention was rapt, like a dehydrated man sucking up a monsoon. "It didn't break all of you… The part that is my irrepressible, stubborn, pig-headed, single minded, determined, _faithful_ little brother, is still there. Maybe a bit more damaged than usual, but still there. And, yes I said 'faithful' because now, almost two years later, I can see your twisted logic. No, I still don't agree with it or like the whole demon blood behind my back with Ruby, that bitch, thing, but I can see how you made the choices you did… I still hate it but I get it. So – yeah – faithful. And as long as there is even a sliver of Sammy left inside, I'll build a boat, man and we'll go sailing." Dean paused, then burst out laughing. "Shit! Did I actually say that?"

Sam, ridiculously glad for his brother's outburst, a dignified way out of a hip wader high chick flic moment, chuckled softly, his good arm tightening protectively across his tender abdomen. "Yeah, bro, you did. But, hey," he ducked his head and smiled softly. "Yeah, I get the _drift_," he chuckled again as Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Sorry."

Satisfied, at least for the moment, Dean stood up, his hand giving Sam's leg another gentle pat. "Now, that we've got all that sorted out, will you please take the damn pills and get some sleep? I don't care if you scream the whole house down." He gave Sam a serious look and placed a hand over his heart. "And I promise not to even poke fun of you in the morning."

Sam's eyes shifted towards the closed door.

As if reading his mind, Dean added. "And Bobby's going deaf-"

_"Nothing wrong with my hearing,_" came a muffled and obviously eavesdropping voice from beyond the door. Both young men grinned as the door opened and a sheepish looking Bobby grimaced.

"I was just checking to see if you boys needed anything, idiots," he explained then grumbled under his breath. "It is my house, after all." Catching Sam's eye though, he added more loudly. "But. Just so you know. Nothing wrong with not being all right. No one expects you to be – accept maybe you, so just take the damn pills and go to sleep." Then he was gone, the door a soft snick behind him.

Dean looked at Sam knowingly.

Sam swallowed hard, still not sure he was ready for this.

"I can see if Bobby still has some of that dream-root," Dean offered. "Could help you maybe kick old Lucy's ass… or something." He shrugged and rubbed his jaw ruefully. "I kinda owe him a beat-down myself."

Sam's eyes were shining. He'd never let Dean do that, he loved his brother too much but the offer was enough. More than enough. "Nah," he shook his head, wincing as it felt like his brains slide against the skull. He held out his hand and glanced towards the pills. "But maybe if you could?"

"You don't even need to ask," Dean reached for the painkillers and glass of water. He watched as Sam drank them down. "Sleep, bro," he gently ordered, taking the now empty glass back. "And just remember, we'll be waiting here for you when you wake up." Dean grimaced. "With a bed pan."

Feeling his eyes already starting to get heavy as his body knew he'd soon be asleep, Sam allowed himself one more moment of weakness. "Dean?" he knew he had his brother's attention. "Stay with me… just until I fall asleep?"

The bed dipped beside him again and he saw, through half-lidded eyes, as his brother smiled at him.

Dean didn't say anything though, but he didn't have to.

Some things were just a waste of words.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

This is completely unbeta'd. I just got it done and wanted to post it - it has just been a crappy couple of days for me - but hopefully this isn't total crap. Anyways, the story is finally done. I hope you enjoy it and there are** SPOILERS in this chapter for everything that has happened in Season 6 so far**. So if you haven't seen this season and don't want to know - please don't read.

**The Walking Dead**

**Chapter 11**

Sam really, really wanted a cup of coffee.

A week into his convalescence and he still hadn't been allowed that small luxury; his older brother being an absolute tyrant about his recovery.

"No stimulants, Sammy, you heard the doctor." Sam muttered darkly, mimicking Dean's patronizing answer every time Sam had asked his brother for a mug.

Hell, inhaling the aroma was practically considered a sin.

Personally, Sam thought Dean was just doing it for kicks. Surely the man who planned and executed Sam's escape from the very same doctor (well the hospital technically, but Sam's petulance wasn't splitting hairs) couldn't be that big a stickler on the smaller details such as the effect of a single cup of coffee on his bed-ridden brother, could he? Even if said brother was right at this moment, carefully propped up in Bobby's old wheelchair, in the living room.

Sam had been watching Dean through the window as his older brother tinkered under the hood of the Impala, on yet another gray overcast autumn day, the sound of brewing coffee in the kitchen picking at his last nerve. He'd swear he was twitching as the aroma practically had Sam drooling; _dignity is highly over-rated when you're already at the level of helplessness I am,_ he mentally derided, but a wash of appreciation blushed out the bitterness.

Thank God though for Dean and Bobby.

They dealt with things, with _him_, in a way that was both professional and defusing. Everything from his nightmares to helping him wipe his ass (and wasn't that such a treat?) left him feeling humbled and loved; doing more to help his laden soul then either man would ever know.

They made this vulnerability tolerable.

A loud ding announced the completion of the pot.

Sam waited – tense – for the sound of footsteps. For someone to acknowledge to the obvious call of the coffee siren in the kitchen.

But no one came.

He waited another moment, then slowly, using his good hand, half turned his chair towards the kitchen. "Bobby?" he called, knowing Dean was outside fussing with his baby but thought the older man was still in the house. "Coffee's done."

There was no answer. Sam frowned then called out a bit more loudly. "Yo, Bobby? Poison's ready!" Still no answer. Huh, old codger must have snuck out…

Wincing as he gingerly shifted enough to look back outside, he saw the grizzled scrapper talking to Dean. Bobby _had_ gone outside.

Sam was taken aback by that – just how off his game had he let his injuries get him?

Sure his broken bones still ached something fierce, his shoulder burned like a sonnovatibitch, the cast on his hand itched, his ribs ached when he breathed quickly or inhaled deeply and he had a headache that kept sliding his brains around at the worst moments... but surely that was no excuse?

And then a cunning smile twisted at his mouth.

"Hey, Dean," he called out softly. "I'm going to grab a coffee – you want one?"

No answer.

He waited another heartbeat, his own pulse starting to race in anticipation.

"All right then. If you're sure…" Snickering slightly at his own deviousness (and good fortune) Sam started the laborious process of wheeling himself to the kitchen. And it really sucked. This was only his second time in the chair, and his first time doing more than carefully turning the chair, but the lure of the forbidden fruit was just too great a temptation.

Sam was not about to be bested by injury and a wheelchair.

He was going to have his damned coffee and drink it too!

By the time he did get to the kitchen, Sam had worked up a sweat and was panting shallowly as he tried to keep the flaring pain in his chest to a manageable agony. His good hand was cramping terribly and he'd managed to knock one of his feet against the side of the wall, hard, stubbing his little toe in the process. He'd whacked it pretty good, probably even broken it if the throbbing waves of pain were any indication, but he was so focused on his goal – on getting his cup of coffee – that little else mattered.

Both he and Dean had hunted in much worst shape after all and hell… Sam stopped and swallowed hard, his eyes flickering nervously towards a corner of the kitchen half expecting Adam to be there… there was no comparison to hell.

Sheer determination pushed those feelings back and he continued on.

He could actually see the coffee pot now –

Could practically taste the strong black coffee –

Could feel the warmth of the mug warning his hurting hand –

And then a throat was cleared behind him and Sam let his head drop.

_Damnit._

_So close._

"So, what'cha doing, little brother?" Dean asked matter-of-factly as he neatly side-stepped Sam and opened the cupboard and pulled out a mug.

Sam scowled as he eyed the cupboard evilly. He hadn't even thought about how he was going to tackle that.

Usually getting a mug off the counter wouldn't be a big deal as Bobby wasn't normally anal about putting his dishes away – _they get washed_, was the man's defence.

And they did.

Washed and put in a drain tray to dry. They just rarely got past the drain tray and back into the cupboard, until Dean had only earlier insisted on putting away all the dishes, as a way of repaying Bobby for letting them crash there.

Well that was what Dean claimed anyways but Sam had his suspicions since Dean had obviously realized his ingenious little brother might make a runner for the coffee, but would find getting something to put the coffee in, more of a challenge.

Not like Sam was above drinking straight out of the pot at this point.

"Nothing." Sam pouted, gingerly slouching as much as he could in the chair.

Damn his toe was really hurting.

"Hmmm… really?" Dean gave him a sugar-sweet look as he got down a second mug for Bobby.

Sam had never felt the need to kick his brother as strongly as he did now… that he couldn't. "Really," Sam tried to shift his foot a bit to help the pain. It didn't.

"You okay?" Dean must have noticed something because his attention was laser focused on Sam, the two mugs side by side now on the counter.

Sam gave him a loaded look.

"Okay, okay," Dean held up his hands in supplication before turning back to the coffee and pouring out two drinks. "Stupid question, I know."

"Where's Bobby?" Sam asked, avoiding the question. Dean would kill him if he found out Sam had hurt himself more. Besides there wasn't anything anyone could do to help, that his next dose of painkillers wouldn't fix.

"Taking a look at something for me," Dean said vaguely knowing that Sam wasn't interested enough in cars to want any more information than that. Picking up the mugs, he moved them to the table. "Hey, Sam," he sat down. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Sam felt something cold and slimy curl in the pit of his stomach. Dean was leaving. He knew that tone.

Not that his big brother had a history of doing so, but he recognized his sibling's _'I have something to tell you and I know you aren't going to like it'_ tone, and there wasn't anything else Sam could think of that would be worse. And not unexpected. After all Dean still had a whole other life, other family, and just because he'd come with his badly hurt brother to Bobby's, now that Sam was starting to mend, it was only reasonable that Dean was going to leave. Sam briefly considered telling Dean about his toe, then chucked the selfishness and instead forced the wheelchair the short distance between him and the table.

"Uh, sure," he said, his interest suddenly on a stain in the wood.

A mug of coffee was quietly slid in front of him but instead of coveting his desperately sought after drink, Sam just felt his eyes burn.

Like a coffee could replace his brother…

"I don't know how to say it, so I am just going to."

Sam glanced up when Dean paused. It was unsettling to see his brother looking so uncomfortable. He knew that this wasn't easy for Dean either and sought to make it easier.

"It's okay," he broke in sparing his brother from actually having to say it. "I know you're leaving."

"What? You do?" Dean sounded and looked startled; it made Sam chuckle softly.

"Yeah… it's pretty obvious. I mean, I'm doing a lot better now – you don't have to stay. I'm sure Lisa and Ben are anxious to get you back home." Sam forced a lightness in his voice that he didn't feel. It actually hurt his face to hold the smile. "And it's okay, man. I get it and I'm fine with it, really." He'd stay at Bobby's until he could walk again (hello, irony) then – well, he wasn't sure what then. Uncertain if he could keep up the hunter's charade any longer. It just felt like something in him was even more broken then before.

"You're a horrible liar," Dean was watching him carefully. "And you're an idiot."

Sam huffed out a surprised noise. "Huh?"

"Lisa and Ben – yeah, I care about them – that's why I'm going back… but it isn't my home and that's why I'm not staying. I'm just going to be gone a couple of days, talk to them, explain things, not that that'll take much explaining because Lisa's pretty much already got things figured out… grab my stuff, then haul ass back here in time to make sure you don't O.D on this stuff," he nudged at Sam's cooling coffee. "And then that's that. Until you're ready to hit the road again. That is… if you want me to."

"That's not my decision to make," Sam stated honestly. As much as he wanted to get down on his knees and grovel, he refused to be the reason Dean gave things up, unless _Dean_ wanted to. If Sam did, he knew that eventually his brother would come to resent him. But, at the same time, he didn't want Dean to feel unwanted. "Whatever you decide, you know I'm always here. Okay, well maybe not physically here but you know what I mean. Brothers, dude. For life."

Dean rolled his eyes, even as he leaned forward and patted Sam's shoulder very lightly. "You need to work on your delivery," he teased then glanced down at the coffee significantly. "For all the trouble you went through, you could at least drink the damn stuff before it gets cold."

"I like cold coffee," Sam argued, just because he could.

* * *

Dean left that afternoon.

Of course he found out about the broken toe before then, and yes it was definitely broken. And and after giving Sam a strict lecture that involved inventive threats and dramatic hand gestures, he taped the toe to its neighbour and told him to take a damn painkiller and that he'd be back in a couple of days. Sam had never felt so loved.

And Sam, being the above mentioned idiot he was, decided that he needed a dose of morphine. His toe _was_ really hurting and it had _nothing_ to do with hoping he'd dope himself up enough that by the time he came down, his brother would be back. Nope, _nothing _to do with that at all. And definitely nothing to do with Adam, Lucifer or even Michael not being able to reach him in his dreams through that narcotic… Unfortunately though, while his mind was protected from the horrors of its own memories, it dazzled him with dreams that left him just as shaken and emotionally twisted when a blurry eyed Sam woke the next morning –

To the bizarre scene of Bobby standing in the doorway of his room and asking him, "Does this sweater make me look old?"

Muzzy minded and still half doped out of his gills, Sam turned tired eyes on his old friend took in the grey cable knit sweater the man was wearing and, mentally uncensored, answered bluntly. "I don't think it's the sweater, Bobby."

"Bah, what do you know anyway," Bobby scoffed and turned to leave.

Swallowing at the paste like dryness of his mouth, Sam winced, his brain playing catch up with the conversation. "Sorry, Bobby – the drugs. It looks…" he took a harder look at the garment as Bobby paused in the doorway again, but was at a loss how to really compliment it. "Why are you wearing a sweater?" He deflected instead. It wasn't the hunter's usual attire of comfort.

If Sam didn't know better, he'd think Bobby blushed as he tugged hard at the woollen neck and made a face. "What? I can't want to look nice for a change?"

Puckering his brow, Sam wondered if he had missed something. "And you want? To look nice? For_ me?_" He wasn't quite sure how to take that, especially in light of the troublesome dream he'd just had. "Bobby?" He rushed the name out in a breath, "You know I'd never try to kill you, right? Not really. If I was in my right mind, right?" It was suddenly very important for Sam to let Bobby know that.

The man frowned at him and approached the bed. "You feeling okay there, boy?" he reached out a calloused hand towards Sam forehead, shaking his head at the lack of obvious fever. "You don't feel warn."

Sam closed his eyes at the brief contact, then opened them again. "I just had this really weird dream. Nightmare actually." He chuckled humourlessly at the end.

"Morphine will do that to you," Bobby offered. "And?"

"And I dreamt that I came back from hell, wrong. Well more wrong than I am now… actually more soul-less than wrong, I guess. Yeah, soul-less, for sure." He waffled as he tried to make some sense out of this. Normally he would have just brushed it off but he couldn't and just needed to talk to someone – to Bobby actually – about it.

"Soul-less?" the old man scratched his head. "I'm not sure that's possible, Sam."

"It was a dream," Sam felt the need to remind then continued. "And it was horrible! I was me only not me at the same."

Bobby sat down in the chair next to the bed. "That'd be quite a conundrum, that's for sure. Depending on popular beliefs, a soul encompasses all goodness and morality. It defines us from an animal and makes us who we are…" His dark eyes watched Sam carefully. "So without it – who were you?"

"Not someone I liked!" Sam admitted vehemently. "The stuff I did…" he shook his head and snorted softly. "Hell, I let vampires turn Dean just so we could get a man on the inside!"

That made Bobby snort. "Yeah, as if. Exactly what were you boys mixing with that morphine?"

"It gets worse," his gaze dropped to his blanket as he shifted again uncomfortable with this next part but still needing to get this nightmare off his chest. Maybe Bobby could help him make some sense out of it. "I, uh, well, Dean decided he was going to help me get my soul back-"

"Vampire Dean?" Bobby interrupted.

"He wasn't a vampire anymore." Sam brought him up to speed.

"Of course not," came a placating reply.

Sam spared a small glare for his companion then returned to watching his blanket, the pain in his little toe starting up again. "But by then, I figured I didn't want it back-"

"Do you know where your soul was?" Bobby interrupted again.

"Hell," was a whisper and for a moment neither said anything. Sam felt the weighted compassion in the older man's eyes and forced himself to continue. "Like I said, I decided I didn't want it back. Too much emotional crap and all that stuff, even Crowley was telling me it wouldn't be a good thing to get back-"

"_Crowley_ was in your dream?"

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Sam wasn't sure he'd have the nerve to finish telling Bobby if the man kept interrupting him.

"Sorry. Go on."

"Thanks. And yeah he was. But don't worry, you were in there too." Sam knew Bobby wanted to say something and appreciated the man's restraint when he didn't. "But see, that wasn't really a good thing because I found out that the only way I could keep Dean from putting the soul back in my body, well not Dean really because he sort of screws it up by not killing the little girl with a heart condition, so Death ends up doing it but not before Balthazar tells me that killing you is the only way of making myself so repulsive my soul wouldn't want to return." Sam rushed out.

"Well, I could have just loaned you this sweater," Bobby offered when it became apparent Sam wasn't going to say anything else. Sam looked at him unsure what he was talking about. "Repulsive? Killing me? I think this sweater would have worked just as well. So, did this Bill guy-"

"Balthazar," Sam corrected.

"Balthazar," Bobby repeated, "Did he say why killing me was the way to go? Or did he just hate this sweater too?"

"I don't think he knew about the sweater," Sam played along and then got serious, not sure how Bobby was going to feel about this but needing to tell him anyways. "Well apparently, you weren't the first choice. Patricide was the way to go but since Dad was dead, he said I could use a surrogate and since, well, you… you're… well…" Sam faltered, terrible and embarrassed to actually say the words. He grimaced then forced them out. "Sinceyou'relikeafathertome,you'dod."

"Huh?"

Oh God, Bobby was really going to make him say it again. He took as deep a breath as he could and managed them again. "Since you're like a father to me, you'd do."

The room was quiet once again for a moment. Sam was tense, waiting for some sort of fallout, just unsure what it might be. Then Bobby chuckled, leaned towards him and gave his uninjured arm and gentle shake. "Oh kid, that was one heck of a dream. So, did you kill me?"

"You're not bothered by this?" Sam's voice rang with disbelief.

"By what?" Bobby seemed genuinely baffled.

"By me trying to kill you?"

"So you didn't succeed, then?"

"Well, no. Dean got back in time and stopped me."

"I bet he was pissed." Bobby speculated.

"I think so – he clocked me before we had much of a chance to talk though…" Sam paused as the other man chuckled again. "You're seriously not bothered by this at all?"

"Naw," Bobby brushed it off with a shrug. "If anything, I'm honoured. If even soul-less you considered me father enough to try to kill, I must be doing something right – now, seriously, does this sweater make me look old?"

"Seriously?" Sam stared at the other man.

"Seriously."

"I think you're right."

"About what?" Bobby frowned in confusion.

"You should have just loaned me the sweater."

* * *

It was almost three days later before Dean came back. Sam heard the throaty rumble of the v8 and smiled from his place on the couch. Bobby had helped get him situated with pillows and carefully rolled blankets so that he was able to comfortably recline and keep his legs up. It was a nice change allowing him a reprieve from the bedroom and sitting in the chair. The wheelchair did let him get around but he still wasn't healed enough to spend much time in it.

Smiling as he glanced up from the book he was reading, Bobby's holler from the kitchen of "Dean's back," was completely unnecessary.

A few minutes later, the clunking of boots and the front door slamming open heralded the travelling Winchester. Dean's gaze immediately sought out Sam and he grinned wide when he saw the younger man ensconced in the living room. "Dude," he moved towards Sam. "You survived!"

Sam laughed. Scowling, Bobby appeared from the kitchen and lightly smacked Dean on the back of his head. "What you saying, boy?"

"Ouch, geez, Bobby," Dean ducked away from the older man and made a show of rubbing his head. "I just mean that he didn't get himself killed for a can of cola or something." The lie was smooth and so Dean but neither other man in the room bought it for one second – neither said anything though. Bobby just grumbled something about checking on a stew and left the brothers alone.

"Hey, I brought you back something," Dean said, dropping his duffle on the floor and then crouching down to look through it.

"You did?" Sam felt about five, his eyes light up with eagerness. He pushed himself up a bit more, biting back a groan. "What is it? What'd ya get me?"

"Eager much," Dean grinned as he found what he was looking for and stood back up. He glanced at a small brown bag for a long moment and then handed the bag to Sam. "It's not much. Just something, you know? "

Something in Dean's tone made Sam's skin prickle and he knew that there was significance in this gift.

"I'll be back in a minute," Dean promised as he re-shouldered his duffle and left the room, obviously taking his stuff upstairs.

Sam listened to him leave as he carefully opened the bag and pulled out a small pocketbook. Frowning, he glanced at the cover, confused. _The Outsiders _by S.E Hinton?

"I remembered you always liked that book, so when I saw it I figured you might get a kick out of re-reading it," Dean's voice was quiet as he re-entered the room and saw Sam looking at the cover.

"Yeah," Sam's head bobbed as he carefully fingered the cover. It was a well-used second bookstore copy and he smiled as it brought back a lot of memories. Most of them good. He glanced up at his brother and smiled. "This is great. Thanks."

Dean didn't say anything but his hazel eyes were a curious shade of green as he continued watching Sam, expectantly, as if waiting for something. Unsure what was this was about, Sam looked back down at the book, opening it and sifting through the pages. They were brittle and slightly yellowed but it was the flash of something red that caught his attention. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes stung. Carefully placed in the middle of the book was a leaf.

A worn and damaged looking red leaf.

Sam's precious leaf.

And it had been laminated.

Swallowing hard, he picked it up; then looked at his brother.

The expectant look had been replaced by warm affection as Dean gazed at him, his posture deceptively casual as he moved to sit down on the edge of the coffee table across from Sam. "I should have been back yesterday morning." He admitted as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and watched Sam looking at the leaf again. "It kinda reminds me of you."

"Me?" Sam balked with a snort. "I suppose it does. Pretty sad looking excuse for a leaf…" He forced a smile but it wavered. "Yeah, I can certainly see the similarity."

"You are an idiot," but there was no censure in his brother's voice as Dean shook his head. "Look at it. Yeah, sure it's pretty worn and has been through a hell of a time, but look at it Sam. I went back and it was still there. Still just being a leaf. So what if it is a bit more brown? And a bit torn up and shit? It's still the same leaf. Just – uh – different… But no less that leaf that you stopped to watch falling just because it was so beautiful… And now with all that lamination crap, it's all protected. Nothing's going to do anymore damage to it. Not now. Not if I have anything to say about it." A fierce edge crept into Dean's voice that both chilled and warmed Sam from the inside.

He reverently put the leaf back in the book and thought about what his brother was saying. What Dean was really saying and he supposed, if he was ready to cut himself any slack, he could see through the metaphor or whatever it was. The stinging in his eyes burned his cheek and he hastily wiped at it, thankful that Dean dropped his gaze, although not before Sam saw the little smirk on his brother's lips. "Well, then," he cleared his throat and quirked an eyebrow as he considered the other hunter. "If I'm the leaf… that'd make you the lamination, right?"

A startled noise from Dean had them both laughing, Sam more gingerly as his body started to throb anew.

"Hadn't really thought about it like that before," Dean mused smugly, "but, yeah, guess so. I've had worse jobs. Not by much," he chuckled. "But it's okay."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam's words were heartfelt. "I don't know what else to say."

"How about nothing then?" Dean offered. "Except maybe do one thing for me. I'm not sure it'll help but hey, stranger things have happened, right?"

"What?" Sam should have been suspicious but he was back looking at the leaf again and thinking about what his brother had said.

"Keep it under your pillow when you sleep. I know it sounds corny but maybe the next time you're sleeping, it might, sorta, help. You know? Maybe keep Adam from haunting you so bad? Just a thought… Stupid, I know."

"You know about Adam?" Sam was shocked. He thought he'd kept that part of his nightmares hidden.

"I know a lot of things, Sam," Dean's tone was sombre; his eyes their own shade of haunted. "It isn't just Hell that's tormenting you, is it? It's Adam."

Sam refused to look away from his brother's intense gaze but he didn't deny it either.

"Like I said, it's probably stupid but I'd like to think that maybe it'll help remind you in some way that even there, in any way that I can, I still have your back."

"What about Adam?" Sam whispered, his voice sounding jagged even to him. "Who's going to watch his back?"

"We will," Dean promised. "Once you're back on your feet, we _are_ going to figure out what brought you and Gramps back and see if we can somehow finagle a way out for Adam. At least get him back to Heaven where he belongs. And that is all we can do."

Sam slowly nodded, that was a plan he could get on board with. "Maybe Cas can help?" he wondered.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. The angelic SOB is being a bastard about returning my 'calls' so far, but who knows. Maybe by then, he'll need something from us and we can find out what he knows."

"Maybe," Sam agreed, unsuccessfully stifling a wide yawn. Although he wanted to spend some more time with Dean, his body wasn't, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before he'd be out like a light.

Dean obviously saw and shook his head. "Take a nap, Sam. I've got some things to talk to Bobby about anyways." His eyes drifted to the book Sam was still holding.

Sam followed his gaze and then reached for the leaf. "Do you mind, maybe helping me with this now – I'd really like to test it out." His nightmares didn't contain themselves to the nights.

His brother understood. Nodding, Dean took the leaf and then gently moved Sam just slightly so he could slip it under the pillows behind Sam's back. It would have to be good enough until Sam retired to his bed for the night. Then, regardless of whether it worked or not, it'd be going under the pillow beneath his head.

Making sure Sam was comfortably settled and halfway asleep before Dean went in search of Bobby, Sam had one final comforting thought before drifting off. Dean might sleep with a gun underneath his pillow for security, but Sam was going to be sleeping with something just as dangerous under his.

A laminated red leaf.

And that afternoon, when he slept, Sam only dreamt of hell.

The End


End file.
